THE 
GOLDEN  BIRD 


"Oh,  how  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Polly,  all  restraint  leaving  her  young  face  and  body 
as  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  sultan 


THE 
GOLDEN  BIRD 


BY 

MARIA  THOMPSON  DAVIESS 

Author  of  "The  Melting  of  Molly,"  "Phyllis,' 
"Sue  Jane,"  "The  Tinder  Box,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
EDWARD  L.  CHASE 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
BUTTERICK  PUBLISHING  COMPAHY 


Published,  September,  1918 


TO 

IDA  CLYDE  CLARKE 
WHOSE  COURAGE  INSPIRES  ME 


2135070 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Oh,  how  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Polly,  all  re- 
straint leaving  her  young  face  and  body  as 
she  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  sultan 
Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

A  poor  old  sheep  was  lying  flat  with  pathetic 
inertia  while  Adam  stood  over  her  with 
something  in  his  arms 106 

I  put  his  babykins  in  a  big  feed-basket  and 
the  lamb  twins  came  and  welcomed  him  .  118 

And  Bud  was  beautiful  in  the  "  custom- 
made  "  fifteen-dollar  gray  cheviot  with  his 
violet  eyes  and  yellow  shock,  in  spite  of  his 
red  ears  .  192 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 


CHAPTER  I 

fTlHE  primary  need  of  a  woman's  nature 
M.  is  always  supposed  to  be  love,  but  very 
suddenly  I  discovered  that  in  my  case  it  was 
money,  a  lot  of  it  and  quick.  That  is,  I 
thought  I  needed  a  lot  and  in  a  very  great 
hurry ;  but  if  I  had  known  what  I  know  now, 
I  might  have  been  contented  feeding  upon 
the  bread  of  some  kind  of  charity,  for  in- 
stance, like  being  married  to  Matthew  Berry 
the  very  next  day  after  I  discovered  my  pov- 
erty. But  at  that  period  of  my  life  I  was  a 
very  ignorant  girl,  and  in  the  most  noble 
spirit  of  a  desperate  adventure  I  embarked 
upon  the  quest  of  the  Golden  Bird,  which  in 
one  short  year  has  landed  me — I  am  now  the 
richest  woman  in  the  world. 

"But,  Ann  Craddock,  you  know  nothing 

3 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

at  all  about  a  chicken  in  any  more  natural 
state  than  in  a  croquette,"  stormed  Matthew 
at  me  as  he  savagely  speared  one  of  those 
inoffensive  articles  of  banquet  diet  with  a 
sharp  silver  fork  while  he  squared  himself 
with  equal  determination  between  me  and 
any  possible  partner  for  the  delicious  one- 
step  that  the  band  in  the  ball-room  was  be- 
ginning to  send  out  in  inviting  waves  of 
sound  to  round  the  dancers  in  from  loitering 
over  their  midnight  food. 

"The  little  I  do  not  know  about  the 
chicken  business,  after  one  week  spent  in 
pursuit  of  that  knowledge  through  every 
weird  magazine  and  state  agricultural  bulle- 
tin in  the  public  library,  even  you  could 
learn,  Matthew  Berry,  with  your  lack  of 
sympathy  with  the  great  American  wealth 
producer,  the  humble  female  chicken  known 
in  farmer  patois  as  a  hen.  Did  you  know 
that  it  only  costs  about  two  dollars  and  thir- 
teen cents  to  feed  a  hen  a  whole  year  and 
that  she  will  produce  twenty-seven  dollars 
and  a  half  for  her  owner,  the  darling  thing? 

4 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

I  know  I  '11  just  love  her  when  I  get  to 
know  her — them  better,  as  I  will  in  only 
about  eighteen  hours  now." 

"Ann,  you  are  mad — mad!"  foamed  Mat- 
thew, as  he  set  down  his  plate  of  perfectly 
good  and  untasted  food,  and  buried  his  head 
in  his  hands  until  his  mop  of  black  hair 
looked  like  a  big  blot  of  midnight. 

"I  'm  not  mad,  Matthew,  just  dead  poor, 
an  heiress  out  of  a  job  and  with  the  necessity 
of  earning  her  bread  by  the  sweat  of  her 
brow  instead  of  consuming  cake  by  the  labor 
of  other  people.  Uncle  Cradd  is  coming  in 
again  with  a  two-horse  wagon,  and  the  car- 
riage to  move  us  out  to  Elmnest  to-morrow 
morning.  Judge  Rutherford  will  attend  to 
selling  all  the  property  and  settle  with  fa- 
ther's creditors.  Another  wagon  is  coming 
for  father's  library,  and  in  two  days  he  won't 
know  that  Uncle  Cradd  and  I  have  moved 
him,  if  I  can  just  get  him  started  on  a  bat 
with  Epictetus  or  old  Horace.  Then  me 
for  the  tall  timbers  and  my  friend  the 
hen. 

5 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Oh,  Ann,  for  the  love  of  high  heaven, 
marry  me  to-morrow,  and  let  me  move  you 
and  Father  Craddock  over  into  that  infer- 
nal, empty  old  barn  I  keep  open  as  a  hotel 
for  nigger  servants.  Marry  me  instead — " 

"Instead  of  the  hen?"  I  interrupted  him 
with  a  laugh.  "I  can't,  Matt,  you  dear 
thing.  I  honestly  can't.  I  've  got  to  go 
back  to  the  land  from  which  my  race  sprang 
and  make  it  blossom  into  a  beautiful  exist- 
ence for  those  two  dear  old  boys.  When 
Uncle  Cradd  heard  of  the  smash  from  that 
horrible  phosphate  deal  he  was  at  the  door 
the  next  morning  at  sun-up,  driving  the  two 
gray  mules  to  one  wagon  himself,  with  old 
Rufus  driving  the  gray  horses  hitched  to 
that  queer  tumble-down,  old  family  coach, 
though  he  had  n't  spoken  to  father  since  he 
married  mother  twenty-eight  years  ago. 

"  'Ready  to  move  you  all  home,  bag  and 
baggage,  William,'  he  said,  as  he  took  fa- 
ther into  his  huge  old  arms  clad  in  the  rusty 
broadcloth  of  his  best  suit,  which  I  think  is 
the  garment  he  purchased  for  father's  very 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

worldly,  town  wedding  with  my  mother, 
which  he  came  from  Riverfield  to  attend  for 
purposes  of  disinheriting  the  bridegroom 
and  me,  though  I  was  several  years  in  the 
future  at  that  date.  'Elmnest  is  as  much 
yours  as  mine,  as  I  told  you  when  you 
sprigged  off  to  marry  in  town.  Get  your 
dimity  together,  Nancy!  Your  grand- 
mother Craddock's  haircloth  trunk  is 
strapped  on  behind  her  carriage  there,  and 
Rufus  will  drive  you  home.  These  mules 
are  too  skittish  for  him  to  handle.  Fine 
pair,  eh,  William?'  And  right  there  in  the 
early  dawn,  almost  in  front  pf  the  garage 
that  contained  his  touring  Chauvinnais  and 
my  gray  roadster,  father  stood  in  his  velvet 
dressing-gown  and  admired  the  two  moth- 
eaten  old  animals.  Now,  I  honestly  ask 
you,  Matthew,  could  a  woman  of  heart  re- 
fuse at  least  to  attempt  to  see  those  two 
great  old  boys  through  the  rest  of  their  lives 
in  peace  and  comfort  together?  Elmnest  is 
roof  and  land  and  that  is  about  all,  for  Uncle 
Cradd  never  would  let  father  give  him  a  cent 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

on  account  of  his  feud  with  mother,  even 
after  she  had  been  dead  for  years.  Father 
would  have  gone  home  with  him  that  morn- 
ing, but  I  made  him  stay  to  turn  things  over 
to  Judge  Rutherford.  Aren't  they  great, 
those  two  old  pioneers?" 

"They  are  the  best  sports  ever,  Ann,  and 
I  say  let 's  fix  up  Elmnest  for  them  to  live 
in  when  they  won't  stay  with  us,  and  for  a 
summer  home  for  us  to  go  and  take — take 
the  children  for  rural  training.  Now  what 
do  you  say — wedding  to-morrow?"  And 
the  light  in  dear  old  Matthew's  eyes  was  very 
lovely  indeed  as  the  music  grew  less  blatant 
and  the  waiter  turned  down  the  lights  near 
the  little  alcove  that  the  wide  walnut  panel- 
ing made  beside  the  steps  that  go  up  to  the 
balcony.  I  have  always  said  that  the 
Clovermead  Country  Club  has  the  loveliest 
house  anywhere  in  the  South. 

"No,  Matthew,  I  care  too  much  about  you 
to  let  you  marry  a  woman  in  search  of  a  roof 
and  food,"  I  answered  him,  with  all  of  the 
affection  I  seemed  to  possess  at  that  time  in 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

my  eyes.  "You  deserve  better  than  that 
from  me." 

"Now,  see  here,  Ann  Craddock,  did  I  or 
did  I  not  ask  you  to  marry  me  at  your  four- 
teenth birthday  party,  which  was  just  ten 
years  ago,  and  did  you  or  did  you  not  tell  me 
just  to  wait  until  you  got  grown?  Have 
you  or  have  you  not  reached  the  years  of  dis- 
cretion and  decision?  I  am  ready  to  marry, 
I  am !"  And  as  he  made  this  announcement 
of  his  matrimonially  inclined  condition  of 
mind,  Matthew  took  my  hand  in  his  and  laid 
his  cheek  against  it. 

"My  heart  is  n't  grown  up  yet,  Matt,"  I 
said  softly,  with  all  the  tenderness  I,  as  I 
before  remarked,  at  that  time  possessed. 
"Don't  wait  for  me.  Marry  Belle  Proctor 
or  somebody  and — and  bring  the — babies  out 
to  Elmnest  for—" 

The  explosion  that  then  followed  landed 
me  in  Owen  Murray's  arms  on  the  floor  of 
the  ball-room,  and  landed  Matthew  in  his  big 
racing-car,  which  I  could  hear  go  roaring 
down  the  road  beyond  the  golf-links. 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

There  is  a  certain  kind  of  woman  whose 
brain  develops  with  amazing  normality  and 
strength,  but  whose  heart  remains  very  soft- 
fibered  and  uncertain,  with  tendencies  to 
lapse  into  second  childhood.  I  am  that  gar- 
den variety,  and  it  took  the  exercising  of 
many  heart  interests  to  toughen  my  cardiac 
organ. 

As  I  traveled  out  the  long  turnpike  that 
wound  itself  through  the  Harpeth  Valley  to 
the  very  old  and  tradition-mossed  town  of 
Riverfield,  in  the  high,  huge-wheeled,  swing- 
ing old  coach  of  my  Great-grandmother 
Craddock,  sitting  pensively  alone  while 
father  occupied  the  front  seat  beside  Uncle 
Cradd,  both  of  them  in  deep  converse  about 
a  line  in  Tom  Moore,  while  Uncle  Cradd 
bumbled  the  air  of  "Drink  to  me  only  with 
thine  eyes"  in  a  lovely  old  bass,  I  should  have 
been  softly  and  pensively  weeping  at  the 
thought  of  the  devastation  of  my  father's 
fortune,  of  the  poverty  brought  down  upon 
his  old  age,  and  about  my  fate  as  a  gay  social 
being  going  thus  into  exile;  but  I  wasn't. 
10 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Did  I  say  that  I  was  sitting  alone  in  state 
upon  the  faded  rose  leather  of  those  ances- 
tral cushions?  That  was  not  the  case,  for 
upon  the  seat  beside  me  rode  the  Golden 
Bird  in  a  beautiful  crate,  which  bore  the 
legend,  "Cock,  full  brother  to  Ladye  Rose- 
comb,  the  world's  champion,  three-hundred- 
and-fourteen-egg  hen,  insured  at  one  thou- 
sand dollars.  Express  sixteen  dollars." 
And  in  another  larger  crate,  strapped  on  top 
of  the  old  haircloth  trunk,  which  held  several 
corduroy  skirts,  some  coarse  linen  smocks 
made  hurriedly  by  Madam  Felicia  after  a 
pattern  in  "The  Review,"  and  several  pairs 
of  lovely,  high-topped  boots,  as  well  as  a 
couple  of  Hagensack  sweaters,  rode  his 
family,  to  whom  he  had  not  yet  even  spoken. 
The  family  consisted  of  ten  perfectly  beauti- 
ful white  Leghorn  feminine  darlings  whose 
crate  was  marked,  "Thoroughbreds  from 
Prairie  Dog  Farm,  Boulder,  Colorado."  I 
had  obtained  the  money  to  purchase  these 
very  much  alive  foundations  for  my  fortune, 
also  the  smart  farmer's  costume,  or  rather 
11 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

my  idea  of  the  correct  thing  in  rustics,  by 
selling  all  the  lovely  lingerie  I  had  brought 
from  Paris  with  me  just  the  week  before 
the  terrible  war  had  crashed  down  upon  the 
world,  and  which  I  had  not  worn  because  I 
had  not  needed  them,  to  Bess  Rutherford 
and  Belle  Proctor  at  very  high  prices,  be- 
cause who  could  tell  whether  France  would 
ever  procure  their  like  again?  They  were 
composed  mostly  of  incrustations  of  em- 
broidery and  real  Val,  and  anyway  the 
Golden  Bird  only  cost  seven  hundred  dollars 
instead  of  the  thousand,  and  the  ladies  Bird 
only  ten  dollars  apiece,  which  to  me  did  not 
seem  exactly  fair,  as  they  were  of  just  as 
good  family  as  he.  I  was  very  proud  of  my- 
self for  having  been  professional  enough  to 
follow  the  directions  of  my  new  big  red  book 
on  "The  Industrious  Fowl,"  and  to  buy 
Golden  Bird  and  his  family  from  localities 
which  were  separated  as  far  as  is  the  East 
from  the  West.  My  company  was  respon- 
sible for  my  light-heartedness  at  a  time  when 
I  should  have  been  weeping  with  vain  regrets 

12 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

at  leaving  life — and  perhaps  love,  for  I 
could  n't  help  hearing  in  my  mind's  ears  that 
great  dangerous  racer  bearing  Matthew 
away  from  me  at  the  rate  of  eighty  miles  an 
hour.  I  was  figuring  on  just  how  long  it 
would  take  the  five  to  eight  hundred  children 
of  the  Bird  family,  which  I  expected  to  in- 
carnate themselves  out  of  egg-shells,  to  in- 
crease to  a  flock  of  two  thousand,  from 
which,  I  was  assured  by  the  statistics  in  that 
very  reliable  book,  I  ought  to  make  three 
thousand  dollars  a  year,  maybe  five,  with 
"good  management."  Also  I  was  not  at  all 
worried  about  the  "good  management"  to  be 
employed.  I  intended  to  begin  to  exert 
it  the  minute  of  my  arrival  in  the  town- 
ship of  Riverfield.  I  had  even  already  be- 
gun to  use  "thoughtful  care,"  for  I  had 
brought  a  box  of  tea  biscuits  along,  and  I 
felt  a  positive  thrill  of  affection  for  Mr.  G. 
Bird  as  he  gratefully  gobbled  a  crushed  one 
from  my  hand.  Also  it  was  dear  of  him 
the  way  he  raised  his  proud  head  and 
chuckled  to  his  brides  in  the  crate  behind 

13 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

him  to  come  and  get  their  share.  It  was 
pathetic  the  way  he  called  and  called  and 
they  answered,  until  I  finally  stopped  their 
mouths  with  ten  other  dainties,  so  that  he 
could  consume  his  in  peace.  Even  at  that 
early  stage  of  our  friendship  I  liked  the 
Golden  Bird,  and  perhaps  it  was  just  a 
wave  of  prophetic  psychology  that  made  me 
feel  so  warmly  towards  the  proud,  white 
young  animal  who  was  to  lead  me  to — 

So  instead  of  the  despair  due  the  occa- 
sion, I  was  happy  as  I  jogged  slowly  out 
over  the  twenty  long  miles  that  stretched 
out  like  a  silvery  ribbon  dropped  down  upon 
the  meadows  and  fields  that  separate  the 
proud  city  of  Hayesville  and  the  gray  and 
green  little  old  hamlet  of  Riverfield,  which 
nestles  in  a  bend  of  the  Cumberland  River 
and  sleeps  time  away  under  its  huge  old  oak 
and  elm  and  hackberry  trees,  kept  perpet- 
ually green  by  the  gnarled  old  cedars  that 
throw  blue-berried  green  fronds  around 
their  winter  nakedness.  As  we  rode  slowly 
along,  with  a  leisure  I  am  sure  all  the  motor- 
14 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

car  world  has  forgotten  exists,  the  two  old 
boys  on  the  front  seat  hummed  and 
chuckled  happily  while  I  breathed  in  great 
gulps  of  a  large,  meadow-sweet  spring  tang 
that  seemed  to  fairly  soak  into  the  circula- 
tion of  my  heart.  The  February  day  was 
cool  with  yet  a  kind  of  tender  warmth  in  its 
little  gust  of  Southern  wind  that  made  me 
feel  as  does  that  brand  of  very  expensive 
Rhine  wine  which  Albert  at  the  Salemite  on 
Forty-second  Street  in  New  York  keeps 
for  Gale  Beacon  specially,  and  which  makes 
Gale  so  furious  for  you  not  to  recognize,  re- 
member about,  and  comment  upon  at  his 
really  wonderful  dinners  to  bright  and  shin- 
ing lights  in  art  and  literature.  Returning 
from  New  York  to  the  Riverfield  Road 
through  the  Harpeth  Valley,  I  also  discov- 
ered upon  the  damsel  Spring  a  hint  of  a 
soft  young  costume  of  young  green  and 
purple  and  yellow  that  was  as  yet  just  a 
mist  being  draped  over  her  by  the  Southern 
wind. 

"I  feel  like  the  fairy  princess  being  driven 

15 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

into  a  land  of  enchantment,  Mr.  Golden 
Bird,"  I  remarked  as  I  leaned  back  upon 
the  soft  old  cushions  and  took  in  the  first 
leisurely  breath  of  the  air  of  the  open  road 
that  my  lungs  had  ever  inhaled :  one  simply 
gulps  air  when  seated  in  a  motor-car.  "It 
is  all  so  simple  and  easy  and — " 

Just  at  this  moment  happened  the  first 
real  adventure  of  my  quest,  and  at  that  time 
it  seemed  a  serious  one,  though  now  I  would 
regard  it  as  of  very  little  moment.  Sud- 
denly there  came  the  noise  of  snapping 
cords,  the  feeling  of  jar  and  upheaval,  and 
before  I  could  turn  more  than  half-way 
around  for  purposes  of  observation,  the  en- 
tire feminine  Bird  family  in  their  tem- 
porary crate  abode  slid  down  into  the  dust 
of  the  road  with  a  great  crash.  I  held  my 
breath  while,  with  a  jolt  and  a  bounce  and  a 
squeak  of  the  heavy  old  springs,  Uncle 
Cradd  brought  the  ancestral  family  coach  to 
a  halt  about  ten  feet  away  from  the  wreck, 
which  was  a  melee  of  broken  timber, 
squeaking  voices,  and  flapping  wings.  As 

16 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

soon  as  I  recovered  from  the  shock  I  sprang 
from  my  cushions  beside  Mr.  G.  Bird,  who 
was  fairly  yelling  clucks  of  command  at  this 
family-to-be,  and  ran  to  their  assistance. 
Now,  I  am  very  long  and  fleet  of  limb,  but 
those  white  Leghorn  ladies  were  too  swift 
for  me,  and  before  I  reached  the  wreck, 
they  had  all  ten  disentangled  themselves 
from  the  crushed  timbers  and  had  literally 
taken  to  the  woods,  through  which  the 
Riverfield  ribbon  was  at  that  moment  wind- 
ing itself.  Clucking  and  chuckling,  they 
concealed  themselves  in  an  undergrowth  of 
coral-strung  buck  bushes,  little  scrub  cedars, 
and  dried  oak  leaves,  and  I  could  hear  them 
holding  a  council  of  war  that  sounded  as  if 
they  were  to  depart  forever  to  parts  un- 
known. In  a  twinkling  of  an  eye  I  saw  my 
future  fortune  literally  take  wings,  and  in 
my  extremity  I  cried  aloud. 

"Oh,  call  them  all  back,  Mr.  Golden 
Bird,"  I  pleaded. 

"Now,  Nancy,  that  is  always  what  I  said 
about  hens.  They  are  such  pesky  woman- 
17 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ish  things  that  it 's  beneath  the  dignity  of  a 
man  to  bother  with  'em.  I  have  n't  had  one 
on  the  place  for  twenty  years  We  '11  just 
turn  this  rooster,  loose  with  them  and  we 
can  go  on  home  in  peace,"  said  Uncle  Cradd 
as  he  peered  around  the  side  of  the  coach 
while  father's  mild  face  appeared  on  the 
other  side.  As  he  spoke,  he  reached  back 
and  released  my  Golden  Bird  from  his  crate 
and  sent  him  flying  out  into  the  woods  in  the 
direction  of  his  family. 

"Oh,  they  are  the  only  things  in  the 
world  that  stand  between  me  and  starva- 
tion," I  wailed,  though  not  loud  enough  for 
either  father  or  Uncle  Cradd  to  hear. 
"Please,  please,  Golden  Bird,  come  back 
and  bring  the  others  with  you,"  I  pleaded 
as  I  held  out  my  hand  to  the  proud  white 
Sultan,  who  had  paused  by  the  roadside  on 
his  way  to  his  family  and  was  now  turning 
bright  eyes  in  the  direction  of  my  out- 
stretched hand.  In  all  the  troubles  and 
trials  through  which  that  proud  Mr.  G.  Bird 
and  I  went  hand  in  hand,  or  rather  wing  in 

18 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

hand,  in  which  I  was  at  times  hard  and  cold 
and  disappointed  in  him,  I  have  never  for- 
gotten that  he  turned  in  his  tracks  and 
walked  majestically  back  to  my  side  and 
peered  into  the  outstretched  hand  with  a 
trustful  and  inquiring  peck.  Some  kind 
fortune  had  brought  it  to  pass  that  I  held 
the  package  of  tea  biscuits  in  my  other 
hand,  and  in  a  few  breathless  seconds  he  was 
pecking  at  one  and  calling  to  the  foolish, 
faithless  lot  of  huddled  hens  in  the  bushes  to 
come  to  him  immediately.  First  he  called 
invitingly  while  I  held  my  breath,  and  then 
he  commanded  as  he  scratched  for  lost 
crumbs  in  the  white  dust  of  the  Riverfield 
ribbon,  but  the  foolish  creatures  only  hud- 
dled and  squeaked,  and  at  a  few  cautious 
steps  I  took  in  their  direction,  they  showed 
a  decided  threat  of  vanishing  forever  into 
the  woods. 

"Oh,  what  will  I  do,  Mr.  G.  Bird?"  I 
asked  in  despair,  with  a  real  sob  in  my 
throat  as  I  looked  toward  the  family  coach, 
from  which  I  could  hear  a  happy  and 

19 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

animated  discussion  of  Plato's  Republic 
going  on  between  the  two  old  gentlemen 
who  had  thirty  years'  arrears  in  argument 
and  conversation  to  make  up.  I  could  see 
that  no  help  would  come  from  that  direction. 
"I  can't  lose  them  forever,"  I  said  again, 
and  this  time  there  was  the  real  sob  arising 
unmistakably  in  my  voice. 

"Just  stand  still,  and  I  '11  call  them  to 
you,"  came  a  soft,  deep  voice  out  of  the  for- 
est behind  me,  and  behold,  a  man  stood  at 
my  side! 

The  man's  name  is  Adam. 

"Now  give  me  a  cracker  and  watch  'em 
come,"  he  said,  as  he  came  close  to  my  side 
and  took  a  biscuit  from  my  surprised  and 
nerveless  hand.  "Ah,  but  you  are  one 
beauty,  aren't  you?"  he  further  remarked, 
and  I  was  not  positively  sure  whether,  he 
meant  me  or  the  Golden  Bird  until  I  saw 
that  he  had  reached  down  and  was  stroking 
Mr.  G.  Bird  with  a  delighted  hand. 
"Chick,  chick,  chick!"  he  commanded,  with 
a  note  that  was  not  at  all  unlike  the  com- 

20 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

manding  one  the  Sultan  had  used  a  few 
minutes  past,  only  more  so,  and  in  less  than 
two  seconds  all  those  foolish  hens  were 
scrambling  around  our  feet.  In  fact, 
the  command  in  his  voice  had  been  so 
forcible  that  I  myself  had  moved  several 
feet  nearer  to  him  until  I,  too,  was  in  the 
center  of  my  scrambling,  clucking  Bird 
venture. 

I  don't  like  beautiful  men.  I  never  did. 
I  think  that  a  woman  ought  to  have  all  the 
beauty  there  is,  and  I  feel  that  a  man  who 
has  any  is  in  some  way  dishonest,  but  I  never 
before  saw  anything  like  that  person  who 
had  come  out  of  the  woods  to  the  rescue  of 
my  family  fortune,  and  I  simply  stared  at 
him  as  he  stood  with  a  fluff  of  seething  white 
wings  around  his  feet  and  towered  against 
the  green  gray  of  an  old  tree  that  hung  over 
the  side  of  the  road.  He  was  tall  and  broad, 
but  lithe  and  lovely  like  some  kind  of  a 
woods  thing,  and  heavy  hair  of  the  same  bril- 
liant burnished  red  that  I  had  seen  upon 
the  back  of  a  prize  Rhode  Island  Red  in  the 

21 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

lovely  water-color  plates  in  my  chicken 
book, — which  had  tempted  me  to  buy  "red" 
until  I  had  read  about  the  triumphs  of  the 
Leghorn  "whites," — waved  close  to  his  head, 
only  ruffling  just  over  his  ears  enough  to 
hide  the  tips  of  them.  His  eyes  were  set  so 
far  back  under  then*  dark,  heavy,  red  eye- 
brows that  they  seemed  night-blue  with  their 
long  black  fringe  of  lashes.  His  face  was 
square  and  strong  and  gentle,  and  the  collar 
of  his  gray  flannel  shirt  was  open  so  that 
I  could  see  that  his  head  was  set  on  his  wide 
shoulders  with  lines  like  an  old  Greek  mas- 
terpiece. Gray  corduroy  trousers  were 
strapped  around  his  waist  by  a  wide  belt 
made  of  some  kind  of  raw-looking  leather 
that  was  held  together  by  two  leather  lacings, 
while  on  his  feet  were  a  kind  of  sandal  shoes 
that  appeared  to  be  made  of  the  same 
leather.  He  must  have  constructed  both 
belt  and  shoes  himself,  and  he  hadn't  any 
hat  at  all  upon  his  crimson-gold  thatch  of 
hair.  I  looked  at  him  so  long  that  I  had  to 
look  away,  and  then  when  I  did  I  looked 

22 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

right  back  at  him  because  I  could  n't  believe 
that  he  was  true. 

"Now  I  'in  going  to  pick  them  up  gently, 
two  at  a  time,  tie  their  feet  together  with  a 
piece  of  this  string,  and  hand  them  to  you  to 
put  inside  the  carriage.  I  '11  catch  the  cock 
first,  the  handsome  old  sport,"  and  as  Pan 
spoke,  he  began  to  suit  his  actions  to  his 
words  with  amazing  tact  and  skill.  I  shall 
always  be  glad  that  the  first  chicken  I  ever 
held  in  my  arms  was  put  into  them  gently 
by  that  woods  man,  and  that  it  was  the 
Golden  Bird  himself.  "Put  him  in  and  shut 
the  door,  and  he'll  calm  the  ladies  as  you 
bring  them  to  him,"  he  commanded  as  he 
bent  down  and  lifted  two  of  the  Bird  brides 
and  began  to  tie  their  feet  together  with  a 
piece  of  cord  he  had  taken  from  a  deep 
pocket  in  the  gray  trousers. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  I  said  with  a  depth  of 
gratitude  in  my  voice  that  I  did  not  know  I 
possessed.  "You  are  the  most  wonderful 
man  I  ever  saw — I  mean  that  I  ever  saw 
with  chickens,"  I  said,  ending  the  remark  in 

23 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

an  agony  of  embarrassment.  "I  don't  know 
much  about  tbem.  I  mean  chickens,"  I  has- 
tened to  add,  and  made  matters  worse. 

"Oh,  they  are  easy,  when  you  get  to  know 
'em,  chickens — or  men,"  he  said  kindly,  with- 
out a  spark  in  his  eyes  back  of  their  black 
bushes .  *  'Are  they  yours  ?' ' 

"They  are  all  the  property  I  have  got 
in  the  world,"  I  answered  as  I  clasped  the 
last  pair  of  biddies  to  my  breast,  for  while 
we  had  been  holding  our  primitive  conversa- 
tion, I  had  been  obeying  his  directions  and 
loading  the  Birds  into  Grandmother  Crad- 
dock's  stately  equipage.  Anxiety  shone 
from  my  eyes  into  his  sympathetic  ones. 

"Well,  you  '11  be  an  heiress  in  no  time 
with  them  to  start  you,  with  'good  manage- 
ment.' I  never  saw  a  finer  lot,"  he  said,  as 
he  walked  to  the  door  of  the  carriage  with 
me,  with  the  last  pair  of  white  Leghorn  ladies 
in  his  arms. 

"But  maybe  I  haven't  got  that  manage- 
ment," I  faltered,  with  my  anxiety  getting 
tearful  in  my  words. 

24 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Oh,  you  '11  learn,"  he  said,  with  such 
heavenly  soothing  in  his  voice  that  I  almost 
reached  out  my  hands  and  clung  to  him  as 
he  settled  the  fussing  poultry  in  the  bottom 
of  the  carriage  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  room 
for  my  feet  among  them.  Mr.  G.  Bird  was 
perched  on  the  seat  at  my  side  and  was 
craning  his  neck  down  and  soothingly  scold- 
ing his  family.  "How  are  you,  Mr.  Crad- 
dock?"  Pan  asked  of  Uncle  Cradd's  hack, 
and  by  his  question  interrupted  an  argument 
that  sounded,  from  the  Greek  phrases  flying, 
like  a  battle  on  the  walls  of  Troy. 

"Well,  well,  how  are  you,  Adam?"  ex- 
claimed Uncle  Cradd,  as  he  turned  around 
and  greeted  the  woodsman  with  a  smile  of 
positive  delight. 

I  had  known  that  man's  name  was  Adam, 
but  I  don't  know  how  I  knew. 

"This  is  my  brother,  Mr.  William  Crad- 
dock,  who  's  come  home  to  me  to  live  and  die 
where  he  belongs,  and  that  young  lady  is 
Nancy.  Those  chickens  are  just  a  whim  of 
hers,  and  we  have  to  humor  her.  Can  we 

25 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

lift  you  as  far  as  Riverfield?"  Uncle  Cradd 
made  his  introduction  and  delivered  his  in- 
vitation all  in  one  breath. 

"I  'm  glad  to  meet  you,  sir,  and  I  am 
grateful  for  your  assistance  in  capturing  my 
daughter's  whims,"  said  father,  as  he  came 
partly  out  of  his  B.  C.  daze. 

As  he  took  my  hand  into  his  slender,  hut 
very  powerful  grasp,  that  man  had  the  im- 
pertinence to  laugh  into  my  eyes  at  my 
parent's  double-entendre,  which  he  had  in- 
tended as  a  simple  single  remark. 

"No,  thank  you,  sir ;  I  've  got  to  get  across 
Paradise  Ridge  before  sundown.  The 
lambs  are  dropping  fast  over  at  Plunkett's, 
and  I  want  to  make  sure  those  Southdown 
ewes  are  all  right,"  he  answered  as  he  put  my 
hand  out  of  his,  though  I  almost  let  it  rebel 
and  cling,  and  took  for  a  second  the  Golden 
Bird's  proud  head  into  his  palm. 

"I  '11  be  over  at  Elmnest  before  your — 

your  'good  judgment'  needs  mine,"  he  said  to 

me  as  softly  as  I  think  a  mother  must  speak 

to  a  child  as  she  unloosens  clinging  depen- 

26 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

dent  fingers.  As  he  spoke  he  shut  the  door 
of  the  old  ark,  and  Uncle  Cradd  drove  on, 
leaving  him  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  great 
woods  looking  after  us. 

"Oh,  I  wish  that  man  were  going  home 
with  us,  Mr.  G.  Bird,  or  we  were  going 
home  with  him,"  I  said  with  a  kind  of  terror 
of  the  unknown  creeping  over  me.  As  I 
spoke  I  reached  out  and  cuddled  the  Golden 
darling  into  the  hollow  of  my  arm.  Some 
day  I  am  going  to  travel  to  the  East  shore 
of  Baltimore  to  the  Rosecomb  Poultry  Farm 
to  see  the  woman  who  raised  the  Golden 
Bird  and  cultivated  such  a  beautiful  confid- 
ing, and  affectionate  nature  in  him.  He 
soothed  me  with  a  chuckle  as  he  pecked  play- 
fully at  my  fingers  and  then  called  cheer- 
fully down  to  the  tethered  white  Ladies  of 
Leghorn. 


27 


CHAPTER  II 

AS  we  ambled  towards  the  sun,  which 
was  setting  over  old  Harpeth,  the  tall- 
est humpbacked  hill  on  Paradise  Ridge,  the 
Greek  battle  raged  on  the  front  seat  and 
there  was  peace  with  anxiety  in  the  back  of 
the  ancestral  coach. 

As  the  wheels  and  the  two  old  gentlemen 
rumbled  and  the  Bird's  family  clucked  and 
crooned,  with  only  an  occasional  irritated 
squawk,  I,  for  the  first  time  since  the  land- 
slide of  our  fortune,  began  to  take  real 
thought  of  the  morrow. 

"Yes,  landslide  is  a  good  name  for  what  is 
happening  to  us,  and  I  hope  we  '11  slide  or 
land  on  the  home  base,  whatever  is  the  cor- 
rect term  in  the  national  game  that  Matthew 
has  given  up  trying  to  teach  me  to  enjoy," 
I  said  to  myself  as  I  settled  down  to  look 
into  our  situation. 

28 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

I  found  that  it  was  not  at  all  astonishing 
that  father  had  lost  all  the  fortune  that  my 
mother  had  left  him  and  me  when  she  died 
three  years  ago.  It  was  astonishing  that 
the  old  dreamer  had  kept  it  as  long  as  he  had, 
and  it  was  only  because  most  of  it  had  been 
in  land  and  he  had  from  the  first  lived 
serenely  and  comfortably  on  nice  flat  slices 
of  town  property  cut  off  whenever  he 
needed  it.  He  had  been  a  dreamer  when  he 
came  out  of  the  University  of  Virginia  ten 
years  after  the  war,  and  it  had  been  the 
tragedy  of  Uncle  Cradd's  life  that  he  had 
not  settled  down  with  him  on  the  very  broad, 
but  very  poor,  ancestral  acres  of  Elmnest,  to 
slice  away  with  him  at  that  wealth  instead  of 
letting  himself  be  captured  in  all  his  poetic 
beauty  at  a  dance  in  Hayesville  by  a  girl 
whose  father  had  made  her  half  a  million  dol- 
lars in  town  land  deals.  Uncle  Cradd's  re- 
sentment had  been  bitter,  and  as  he  was  the 
senior  of  his  twin  brother  by  several  hours, 
he  demanded  that  father  sell  him  his  half  of 
Elmnest,  and  for  it  had  paid  his  entire  for- 

29 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

tune  outside  of  the  bare  acres.  In  poetic 
pride  father  had  acceded  to  his  demand,  lent 
the  money  thrust  upon  him  to  the  first  specu- 
lator who  got  to  him,  and  the  two  brothers 
had  settled  themselves  down  twenty  miles 
apart  in  the  depths  of  a  feud,  to  eat  their 
hearts  out  for  each  other.  The  rich  man 
sought  a  path  to  the  heart  of  the  poor  man, 
but -was  repulsed  until  the  day  after  the  spec- 
tacular failure  of  his  phosphate  company 
had  penetrated  into  the  wilds  of  little  River- 
field,  and  immediately  Uncle  Cradd  had 
hitched  up  the  moth-eaten  string  in  his  old 
stables  and  come  into  town  for  us,  and  in 
father's  sweet  old  heart  there  was  never  an 
idea  of  not,  as  he  put  it,  "going  home."  I 
had  never  seen  Elmnest,  but  I  knew  some- 
thing of  the  situation,  and  that  is  where 
the  Golden  Bird  arrived  on  the  situation. 
The  morning  after  our  decision  to  return  to 
the  land — a  decision  in  which  I  had  borne  no 
part  but  a  sympathetic  one  after  I  had  lis- 
tened half  the  night  to  father's  raptures  over 
Uncle  Cradd  as  a  Greek  scholar  with  whom 
30 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

one  would  wish  to  spend  one's  last  days — 
the  February  copy  of  "The  Woman's  Re- 
view" arrived,  and  on  the  first  page  was  an 
article  from  a  woman  who  earns  five  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year  with  the  industrious  hen 
on  a  little  farm  of  ten  acres.  There  were 
lovely  pictures  of  her  with  her  feathered 
family,  and  I  decided  that  what  a  woman 
with  the  limited  experience  of  a  head  stenog- 
rapher in  a  railroad  office  could  do,  I,  with 
my  wider  scope  of  travel  and  culture,  could 
more  than  double  on  three  hundred  acres  of 
land  in  the  Harpeth  Valley.  Some  day  I  'm 
going  to  see  that  woman  and  I  'm  going  to 
stop  by  and  speak  sternly  to  the  editor  of 
"The  Woman's  Review"  on  my  way. 

"Mr.  G.  Bird,"  I  began  as  I  reached  this 
point  and  I  saw  that  we  were  arriving  in 
the  heart  of  civilization,  which  was  the 
square  of  a  quaint  little  old  town.  From  a 
motor-car  acquaintance,  I  knew  this  to  be 
Riverfield,  but  I  had  never  even  stopped  be- 
cause of  the  family  pride  involved  in  the  feud 
now  dead.  "Mr.  Bird,"  I  repeated,  "I  am 
si 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

afraid  I  am  up  against  it,  and  I  hope  you  '11 
stand  by  me."  He  answered  me  by  preen- 
ing a  breast  feather  and  winking  one  of  his 
bright  eyes  as  Uncle  Cradd  stopped  the 
ancient  steeds  in  the  center  of  the  square,  be- 
fore a  little  old  brick  building  that  bore  three 
signs  over  its  tumble-down  porch.  They 
were:  "Silas  Beesley,  Grocer,"  "U.  S. 
Post-Office,"  and  "Riverfield  Bank  and 
Trust  Co." 

"Hey,  Si,  here's  William  come  home!" 
called  Uncle  Cradd,  as  a  negro  boy  with  a 
broad  grin  stood  at  the  heads  of  the  slow  old 
horses,  who,  I  felt  sure,  wouldn't  have 
moved  except  under  necessity  before  the 
judgment  day.  In  less  time  than  I  can  take 
to  tell  it  father  descended  literally  into  the 
arms  of  his  friends.  About  half  a  dozen 
old  farmers,  some  in  overalls  and  some  in 
rusty  black  broadcloth  the  color  of  Uncle 
Cradd's,  poured  out  of  the  wide  door  of  the 
business  building  before  described,  and  they 
acted  very  much  as  I  have  seen  the  boys  at 
Yale  or  Princeton  act  after  a  success  or  de- 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

feat  on  the  foot-ball  field.  They  hugged 
father  and  they  slapped  him  on  the  back  and 
they  shook  his  hand  as  if  it  were  not  of 
human,  sixty-year-old  flesh  and  blood. 
Then  they  introduced  a  lot  of  stalwart  young 
farmers  to  him,  each  of  whom  gave  father 
hearty  greetings,  but  refrained  from  even  a 
glance  in  my  direction  as  I  sat  enthroned 
on  high  on  the  faded  old  cushions  and  waited 
for  an  introduction,  which  at  last  Uncle 
Cradd  remembered  to  give  me. 

"This  is  Miss  Nancy  Craddock,  gentle- 
men, named  after  my  mother,  and  she 's 
going  to  beat  out  the  Bend  in  her  chicken 
raising,  which  she  's  brought  along  with  her. 
Come  over,  youngsters,  and  look  her  over. 
The  fire  in  the  parlor  don't  burn  more  than 
a  half  cord  of  wood  on  a  Sunday,  and  you 
can  come  over  Saturday  afternoon  and  cut  it 
against  the  Sabbath,  with  a  welcome  to  any 
one  of  the  spare  rooms  and  a  slab  of  Rufus's 
spare  rib  and  a  couple  of  both  breakfast  and 
supper  muffins."  All  of  the  older  men 
laughed  at  this  sweeping  invitation,  and  all 

33 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  younger  greeted  it  with  ears  that  became 
instantly  crimson.  I  verily  believe  they 
would  one  and  all  have  fled  and  left  me  sit- 
ting there  yet  if  a  diversion  had  not  arrived 
in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Silas,  who  came 
bustling  out  of  the  door  of  the  grocery  or 
post-office  or  bank;  whichever  it  is  called, 
is  according  to  your  errand  there.  Mrs. 
Si  was  tall,  and  almost  as  broad  as  the 
door  itself,  with  the  rosiest  cheeks  and  the 
bluest  eyes  I  had  ever  beheld,  and  they 
crinkled  with  loveliness  around  their  corners. 
She  had  white  water-waves  that  escaped 
their  decorous  plastering  into  waving  little 
tendril  curls,  and  her  mouth  was  as  curled 
and  red-lipped  and  dimpled  as  a  girl's.  In 
a  twinkling  of  those  blue  eyes  I  fell  out  of 
the  carriage  into  a  pair  of  strong,  soft,  ten- 
der arms  covered  with  stiff  gray  percale,  and 
received  two  hearty  kisses,  one  on  each 
cheek. 

"God  bless  you,  honeybunch,  and  I  'm 
glad  William  has  brought  you  home  at  last, 
the  rascal."  As  she  hugged  me  she  reached 

34 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

out  a  strong  hand  and  gave  father  first  a 
good  shake  by  his  shoulder  and  then  by  his 
hand. 

"Fine  girl,  eh,  Mary?"  answered  father  as 
he  returned  the  shoulder  shake  with  a  pat  on 
the  broad  gray  percale  back,  and  retained 
the  strong  hand  in  his,  with  a  frank  clinging. 

I  wondered  if — • 

"She  's  her  Aunt  Mary's  blessed  child,  and 
I  will  have  her  making  riz  biscuits  like  old 
Madam  Craddock's  black  Sue  for  you  two 
boys  in  less  than  a  week,"  she  answered  him, 
with  a  laugh  that  somehow  sounded  a  bit 
dewy. 

"Oh,  do  you  know  about  chickens,  Mrs. — 
I  mean,  Aunt  Mary?"  I  asked  as  I  clung  to 
the  hand  to  which  father  was  not  clinging. 

"Bless  my  heart,  what 's  that  I  see  setting 
up  on  old  Madam  Craddock's  cushions?  Is 
it  a  rooster  or  a  dream  bird?"  she  answered 
me  by  exclaiming  as  she  caught  sight  of  Mr. 
G.  Bird  sitting  in  lonely  state,  but  as  good 
as  gold,  upon  the  rose-leather  cushions.  "I 
thought  I  feathered  out  the  finest  chickens 

85 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

in  the  Harpeth  Valley,  but  this  one  isn't 
human,  you  might  say,"  and  as  she  spoke  she 
shook  off  father  and  me,  and  approached 
the  carriage  and  peered  in  with  the  reverence 
of  a  real  poultry  artist.  "Bless  my  heart!" 
she  again  exclaimed. 

"Those  are  just  Miss  Nancy's  whims  to 
take  the  place  of  her  card-routs  and  sinful 
dancing  habits,"  said  Uncle  Cradd,  with  a 
great  and  indulgent  amusement  as  all  the 
little  crowd  of  native  friends  gathered 
around  to  look  at  the  Bird  family. 

''Say,  that  rooster  ought  to  have  been  met 
with  a  brass  band  like  they  did  Mr.  Cum- 
mins' horse,  Lightheels,  after  he  won  all 
those  cups  up  in  the  races  at  Cincinnati," 
said  the  tallest  of  the  young  farmers,  whose 
ears  had  begun  to  assume  their  normal  color. 

"And  a  sight  more  right  he  has  to  such  a 
honor,  Bud  Beesley,"  replied  Aunt  Mary, 
with  spirit,  as  she  stroked  the  proud  head  of 
the  Golden  Bird.  "It  takes  hens  and  women 
all  their  days  to  collect  the  money  men  spend 
on  race-horses  sometimes,  my  son." 

36 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Well,  Mary,  I  reckon  you  are  n't  allud- 
ing to  this  pair  of  spanking  grays  I  've  got; 
but  in  case  you  are  getting  personal  to  them, 
I  think  we  had  better  begin  to  go.  Come, 
get  in  with  the  Whim  family,  Nancy,  and 
let 's  be  traveling.  It 's  near  on  to  a  mile 
over  a  mighty  rough  road  to  the  house  from 
the  gate  here.  Everybody  come  and  see  us." 
As  he  spoke  Uncle  Cradd  assisted  me  with 
ceremony  into  the  chariot  beside  the  Golden 
hero  of  the  hour,  and  started  the  ancient 
steeds  into  a  tall  old  gate  right  opposite  the 
bank-store-post-office.  As  he  drove  away 
something  like  warm  tears  misted  across  my 
eyes  as  I  looked  back  and  saw  all  the  good- 
will and  friendliness  in  the  eye  of  the  farmer 
friends  who  watched  our  departure. 

"That,  Ann,  is  the  salt  of  the  earth,  and  I 
don't  see  how  I  consumed  life  so  long  with- 
out it,"  said  father  as  he  turned,  and  looked 
at  me  with  a  sparkle  in  his  mystic  gray  eyes 
that  I  had  never  seen  there  when  we  were 
seated  at  table  with  the  mighty  or  making 
our  bow  in  broadcloth  and  fine  linen  in  some 

37 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

of  the  palaces  of  the  world.  I  did  n't  know 
what  it  was  then,  but  I  do  now ;  it  is  a  land- 
love  that  lies  deep  in  the  heart  of  every  man 
who  is  born  out  in  meadows  and  fields. 
They  never  get  over  it  and  sometimes  trans- 
mit it  even  to  the  second  generation.  I  felt 
it  stir  and  run  in  my  blood  as  we  rumbled 
and  bumped  up  the  long  avenue  of  tall  old 
elm-trees  that  led  through  deep  fields  which 
were  even  then  greening  with  blue-grass  and 
from  which  arose  a  rich  loamy  fragrance, 
and  finally  arrived  at  the  most  wonderful  old 
brick  house  that  I  had  ever  seen  in  all  of  my 
life;  it  seemed  to  even  my  much  traveled 
eyes  in  some  ways  the  most  wonderful  abode 
for  human  beings  I  had  ever  beheld.  It 
was  not  the  traditional  white-pillared  man- 
sion. It  was  more  wonderful.  The  bricks 
had  aged  a  rich,  red  purple,  and  were 
rimmed  and  splotched  with  soft  green  and 
gray  moss  under  traceries  of  vines  that  were 
beginning  to  put  out  rich  russet  buds.  The 
windows  were  filled  with  tiny  diamond  panes 

88 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

of  glass,  which  glittered  in  the  gables  from 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  setting  over  Old 
Harpeth,  and  the  broad,  gray  shingled  roof 
hovered  down  over  the  wide  porch  which 
would  have  sheltered  fifty  people  safely.  A 
flagstone  walk  and  stone  steps  led  up  from 
the  drive,  seemingly  right  into  the  wide  front 
door,  which  had  small,  diamond-paned, 
heavily  shuttered  windows  in  it,  and  queer 
holes  on  each  side. 

"To  shoot  through  in  case  of  marauding 
Indians,"  answered  Uncle  Cradd  to  my 
startled  question,  which  had  sprung  from  a 
suspicion  that  must  have  been  dictated  by 
prenatal  knowledge.  As  I  entered  the 
homestead  of  my  fathers  I  felt  that  I  had 
slipped  back  into  the  colonial  age  of 
America,  and  I  found  myself  almost  in  a 
state  of  terror.  The  wide  old  hall,  the 
heavy-beamed  ceiling  of  which  was  so  low 
that  you  felt  again  hovered,  was  lighted  by 
only  one  candle,  though  a  broad  path  of  fire- 
light lay  across  the  dark  polished  floor  from 

89 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  room  on  the  left,  where  appeared  old 
Rufus  enveloped  in  a  large  apron  no  whiter 
than  the  snowy  kinks  on  his  old  head. 

"Time  you  has  worship,  Mas'  Cradd,  my 
muffins  and  spare  ribs  will  be  done,"  he  said 
after  he  had  bestowed  a  grand  bow  first  upon 
father  and  then  upon  me,  with  a  soft-voiced 
greeting  of  "sarvant,  little  Mis',  and  sarvant, 
Mas'  William." 

"It  is  fitting  that  we  render  unto  the  Lord 
thankfulness  for  your  return  home  with 
Nancy,  your  child,  William,  in  the  first  mo- 
ments of  your  arrival.  Come!"  commanded 
Uncle  Cradd,  and  he  led  us  into  a  huge  room 
as  low  ceilinged  and  dark-toned  as  the  hall. 
In  it  there  was  only  the  firelight  and  another 
dim  candle  placed  on  a  small  table  beside 
a  huge  old  book.  With  the  surety  of  long 
habit  father  walked  straight  to  a  large  chair 
that  was  drawn  close  to  the  hearth  on  the 
side  opposite  the  table,  behind  which  was 
another  large  chair  of  exactly  the  same  pat- 
tern of  high-backed  dignity,  and  seated  him- 
self. Then  he  drew  me  down  into  a  low 

40 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

chair  beside  him,  and  I  lifted  up  my  hands, 
removed  my  hat,  and  was  at  last  come  home 
from  a  huge  and  unreal  world  outside. 

As  I  sat  and  gazed  from  the  dark  room 
through  a  large  old  window,  which  was 
swung  open  on  heavy  hinges  to  allow  the 
sap -scented  breeze  to  drift  in  and  fan  the  fire 
of  lingering  winter,  out  into  an  old  garden 
with  brick-outlined  walks  and  climbing  bare 
rose  vines  upon  which  was  beginning  to  be 
poured  the  silver  enchantment  of  a  young 
moon,  Uncle  Cradd,  in  his  deep  old  voice, 
which  was  like  the  notes  given  out  by  an  an- 
cient violin,  began  to  read  a  chapter  from 
his  old  Book  which  began  with  the  exhorta- 
tion, "Let  brotherly  love  continue,"  and  laid 
down  a  course  of  moral  conduct  that  seemed 
so  impossible  that  I  sat  spellbound  to  the  last 
words,  "Grace  be  with  you  all.  Ahmen." 

Then  I  knelt  beside  father,  with  old  Rufus 
close  behind  our  chairs,  and  was  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  lifted  on  the  wings  of 
prayer  and  carried  off  up  somewhere  I 
had  n't  been  before.  As  Uncle  Cradd's 

41 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

sonorous  words  of  love  and  rejoicing  over 
our  return  rolled  forth  in  the  twilight,  I 
crouched  against  father's  shoulder,  and  I 
think  the  spirit  of  my  Grandmother  Crad- 
dock,  whom  I  had  heard  indulging  in  a 
Methodist  form  of  vocal  rejoicing  which  is 
called  a  shout,  was  about  to  manifest  itself 
through  me  when  I  was  brought  to  earth  and 
to  my  feet  by  a  long,  protracted,  and 
alarmed  appeal  sent  forth  in  the  voice  of  the 
Golden  Bird. 

"Keep  us  and  protect  us  through  the  night 
with  Your  grace.  Ahmen!  Why  didn't 
you  put  those  chickens  out  of  the  way  of 
skunks  and  weasels,  Rufus,  you  old  scoun- 
drel," rolled  out  Uncle  Cradd's  deep  voice, 
dropping  with  great  harmony  from  the  sub- 
lime to  the  domestic. 

Then,  with  Rufus  at  my  heels,  I  literally 
flew  through  the  back  door  of  the  house  to- 
wards the  sound  of  distress  that  had  come 
from  that  direction.  In  front  of  a  rambling 
old  barn,  which  was  silvered  by  the  crescent 
that  hung  over  its  ridge-pole,  stood  the 
42 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

chariot,  and  at  its  door,  with  Mr.  G.  Bird  in 
his  arms,  I  saw  that  man  Adam. 

"He  didn't  recognize  my  first  touch," 
came  across  the  moonbeams  in  a  voice  as  fluty 
as  the  original  Pan's,  and  mingled  with 
friendly  chuckles  and  clucks  from  the  entire 
Bird  family  as  they  felt  the  caress  of  long 
hands  among  them.  I  was  so  ruffled  myself 
that  I  felt  in  need  of  soothing;  so  I  came 
across  the  light  and  into  the  black  shadow  of 
the  old  coach. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have 
done  if  you  hadn't  come!"  I  exclaimed. 

After  my  ardent  exclamation  of  welcome 
to  Pan  I  stood  still  for  fear  he  would  vanish 
into  the  moonlight,  because  with  his  litheness 
and  the  eerie  locks  of  hair  that  even  in  the 
silvering  radiance  showed  a  note  of  crimson 
cresting  over  his  ears,  he  looked  exactly  as  if 
he  had  come  out  of  the  hollow  in  some  oak- 
tree. 

"I  thought  you  might  feel  that  way  about 
it,"  he  answered  me,  or  rather  I  think  that  is 
what  he  said,  because  he  was  crooning  to  me 

43 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

and  the  Ladies  Bird  at  the  same  time,  and 
with  a  mixture  of  epitaphs  and  endearments 
that  I  didn't  care  to  untangle.  "There, 
there,  lovely  lady,  don't  be  scared;  it  is  going 
to  be  all  right,"  he  soothed,  as  he  lifted  one 
of  the  fluffy  biddies  and  tucked  her  under 
his  arm. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  think  so,"  I 
claimed  the  remark  by  exclaiming,  while  she 
made  her  claim  by  a  contented  little  cluck. 

"Now  don't  be  bothered,  sweetheart,"  he 
again  said,  as  he  picked  up  another  of  the 
Ladies  Bird  and  turned  towards  the  huge  old 
tumble-down  barn  that  was  yawning  a  black 
midnight  out  into  the  gray  moonlight. 
"Let 's  all  go  into  the  barn  and  settle  down 
to  live  happily  together  ever  after." 

"I  think  that  will  be  lovely,"  I  answered, 
while  beautiful  Mrs.  Bird  made  her  reply 
with  a  consenting  cluck.  I  never  supposed 
I  would  make  an  affirmative  answer  to  a 
domestic  proposal  that  was  at  least  uncertain 
of  intent,  but  then  I  also  never  dreamed  of 
being  in  the  position  of  guardian  to  eleven 

44 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

head  of  prize  live  stock,  and  I  think  any- 
thing I  did  or  said  under  the  circumstances 
was  excusable. 

"Don't  you  want  to  come  with  me  and 
bring  the  cock  with  you.  Old  Rufus 
would  n't  touch  one  of  them  for  a  gold  rock," 
he  asked,  and  I  felt  slightly  aggrieved  when 
I  discovered  that  I  was  to  know  when  I  was 
being  addressed  by  a  lack  of  any  term  of  en- 
dearment, though  the  caressing  flutiness  of 
Adam's  voice  was  the  same  to  me  as  to  any 
one  of  the  Ladies  Leghorn. 

"Naw,  Marster,  chickens  am  my  hoodoo. 
To  tetch  one  makes  my  flesh  crawl  like  they 
was  walking  on  my  grave,  and  if  little  Mis* 
will  permit  of  me,  I  wanter  git  back  to  see 
to  the  browning  of  my  muffins  ginst  the  time 
Mas'  Cradd  rars  at  me  fer  his  supper,"  and 
without  waiting  for  the  consent  he  had  asked, 
old  Rufus  shuffled  hurriedly  back  into  the 
house. 

"I  '11  bring  Mr.  Golden  Bird.  I  adore 
the  creeps  his  feathers  give  me,"  I  said  as  I 
reached  in  the  coach  and  took  the  Sultan  in 

45 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

my  arms.  He  gave  not  a  single  note  of  re- 
monstrance, but  I  suppose  it  was  imag- 
ination that  made  me  think  that  he  fluffed 
himself  into  my  embrace  with  friendly  joy. 

"Come  on,  let 's  put  them  for  to-night  over 
in  the  feed-room.  There,  ladies,  did  you 
ever  see  a  greater  old  barn  than  this?"  As 
he  spoke  to  us  he  led  the  way  with  four  of  the 
admiring  and  obedient  Ladies,  in  his  arms, 
while  the  fifth,  who  was  I,  followed  him  into 
the  deep,  purple,  hay-scented  darkness. 

"I  never  did  see  anything  like  it,"  I  an- 
swered, while  only  one  of  the  Leghorn 
ladies  gave  a  sleepy  cluck  of  assent  to  their 
part  of  the  question. 

I  really  did  have  a  thrill  of  pure  joy  in 
that  old  barn.  It  was  n't  like  anything  I 
had  ever  seen  before,  and  was  as  far  removed 
from  a  garage  as  is  a  brown-hearted  chest- 
nut burr  from  a  souffle  of  maroons  served  on 
a  silver  dish.  I  could  hear  the  moth-eaten 
string  of  steeds  munching  noisily  over  at  one 
end  of  the  huge  darkness,  and  the  odor  that 
arose  from  their  repast  was  of  corn  and  not 

46 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

of  suffocating  gasoline.  Tall  weeds  and 
long  frames  with  teeth  in  them,  which  gave 
them  the  appearance  of  huge  alligator 
mouths  yawning  from  the  dusk  to  snap  me, 
pressed  close  on  each  side.  Straps  and 
ropes  and  harness  were  draped  from  the 
beams  and  along  the  walls,  and  the  combined 
aroma  of  corn  and  hay  and  leather  and 
horses  seemed  an  inspiration  to  a  lusty 
breath. 

"There,  sweeties,  is  a  nice  smooth  bin  for 
you  to  go  to  bed  on,"  said  Adam  as  he  set  the 
Ladies  Leghorn  one  by  one  from  his  arms  on 
the  edge  of  a  long  narrow  box  that  was  piled 
high  with  corn.  "Now  you  stay  here  with 
them  until  I  bring  the  rest.  Put  your 
Golden  Bird  down  beside  the  biddies,  and 
I  '11  bring  the  others  to  put  on  the  other  side 
of  him  to  roost,  and  in  the  morning  he  can 
begin  scratching  for  a  happy  and  united 
family."  With  which  command  Pan  disap- 
peared into  the  purple  darkness  and  left  me 
alone  in  the  snapping  monster  shadows  with 
only  the  sleepy  Golden  Bird  for  company. 

47 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

The  Bird  shook  himself  after  being  depos- 
ited beside  the  half -portion  of  his  family, 
puffed  himself  up,  sank  his  long  neck  into  his 
shoulders,  and  evidently  went  to  sleep.  I 
shivered  up  close  to  him  and  looked  over 
my  shoulder  into  the  blackness  behind  the 
teeth  and  then  didn't  look  again  until  I 
heard  the  soft  pad  of  the  weird  leather  shoes 
behind  me. 

"Now  all 's  shipshape  for  the  night,"  said 
Pan  as  he  spread  out  his  armful  of  feathers 
into  a  bunchy  line  on  the  edge  of  the  bin. 
"Just  throw  them  about  two  double  hand- 
fulls  of  mixed  corn  and  wheat  down  in  the 
hay  litter  on  the  floor  at  daybreak  and  keep 
them  shut  up  and  scratching  until  you  are 
sure  none  of  them  are  going  to  lay.  From 
the  red  of  their  combs  I  judge  they  will  all 
be  laying  in  a  few  days." 

"At  daybreak?"  I  faltered. 

"Yes ;  they  ought  to  be  got  to  work  as  soon 
as  they  hop  off  the  roost,"  answered  Pan,  as 
he  spread  a  little  more  of  the  hay  on  the 
floor  in  front  of  the  perch  of  the  Bird  family. 

48 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"How  do  I  know  it — I  mean  daybreak?" 
I  asked,  with  eagerness  and  hesitation  both 
in  my  voice,  as  Pan  started  padding  out 
through  the  monster-haunted  darkness  to- 
wards the  square  of  silver  light  beyond  the 
huge  door.  As  I  asked  my  question  I  fol- 
lowed close  at  his  heels. 

"I  '11  be  going  through  to  Plunketts  and 
I  '11  call  you,  like  this."  As  we  came  from 
the  shadows  into  the  moonlight  beside  the 
coach,  Adam  paused  and  gave  three  low 
weird  notes,  which  were  so  lovely  that  they 
seemed  the  sounds  from  which  the  melody  of 
all  the  world  was  sprung.  "I  '11  call  twice, 
and  then  you  answer  if  you  are  awake.  If 
not,  I  '11  call  again." 

"I  '11  be  awake,"  I  asserted  positively. 
"Won't  you— that  is,  must  I  fix—" 

"That 's  all  for  to-night,  and  good  night," 
he  answered  me  with  a  laugh  that  was  as 
reedy  as  the  brisk  wind  in  the  trees.  In  a 
second  he  was  padding  away  from  me  into 
the  trees  beyond  the  garden  as  swiftly  as  I 
suppose  jaguars  and  lithe  lions  travel. 

49 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Oh,  don't  you  want  some  supper?"  I 
called  into  the  moonlight,  even  running  a  few 
steps  after  him. 

"Parched  corn  in  my  pocket — lambs," 
came  fluting  back  to  me  from  the  shadows. 

"Supper  am  sarved,  little  Mis',"  Rufus 
announced  from  the  back  door,  as  I  stood 
still  looking  and  listening  into  the  night. 

"Uncle  Cradd,"  I  asked  eagerly  at  the 
end  of  the  food  prayer  that  the  old  gentle- 
man had  offered  after  seating  me  with  cere- 
mony behind  a  steaming  silver  Ncoffee  urn  of 
colonial  pattern,  of  which  I  had  heard  all  my 
life,  "who  is  that  remarkable  man?" 


CHAPTER  III 

SI  BEESLEY?  Spare  rib,  dear?"  was 
his  disappointing  but  hospitable,  answer 
in  two  return  questions  to  my  anxious  in- 
quiries about  the  Pan  who  had  come  out  of 
the  woods  at  my  need. 

"No ;  I  mean — mean,  did  n't  you  call  him 
Adam?" 

"Nobody  knows.  Now,  William,  a  spare 
rib  and  a  muffin  is  real  nourishment  after  the 
nightingale's  tongues  and  snails  you  've  been 
living  on  for  twenty-odd  years,  isn't  it?" 
As  he  spoke  Uncle  Cradd  beamed  on  father, 
who  was  eating  with  the  first  show  of  real 
pleasure  in  food  since  we  had  had  to  send 
Henri  back  to  New  York,  after  the  crash, 
weeping  with  all  his  French-cook  soul  at 
leaving  us  after  fifteen  years'  service. 

"I  have  always  enjoyed  that  essay  of 
Charles  Lamb's  on  roast  pig,  Cradd,"  an- 

51 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

swered  father  as  he  took  a  second  muffin. 
"I  know  that  Lamb  used  to  bore  you,  Cradd, 
but  honestly  now,  does  n't  his  materialism 
seem — " 

"Oh,  Uncle  Cradd,  please  tell  me  about 
that  Adam  man  before  you  and  father  dis- 
appear into  the  eighteenth  century,"  I 
pleaded,  as  I  handed  two  cups  of  steaming 
coffee  to  Rufus  to  pass  my  two  elderly 
savants. 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,  Nancy  child," 
answered  Uncle  Cradd,  with  an  indulgent 
smile  as  he  peered  at  me  over  his  glasses. 
"Upon  my  word,  William,  Nancy  is  the  liv- 
ing image  of  mother  when  we  first  remem- 
ber her,  is  n't  she?  You  are  very  beautiful, 
my  dear." 

"I  know  it,"  I  answered  hurriedly  and 
hardly  aware  of  what  I  was  saying;  "but  I 
want  to  know  where  he  came  from,  please, 
Uncle  Cradd." 

"Well,  as  near  as  I  can  remember  he  came 
out  of  the  woods  a  year  ago  and  has  been  in 
and  out  helping  about  the  farms  here  in 

52 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Harpeth  Valley  ever  since.  He  never  eats 
or  sleeps  anywhere,  and  he  's  a  kind  of  wiz- 
ard with  animals,  they  say.  And,  William, 
he  does  know  his  Horace.  Just  last  week  he 
appeared  with  a  little  leather-covered  vol- 
ume, and  for  four  mortal  hours  we — " 

"They  says  dat  red-haided  peckerwoods 
goes  to  the  devil  on  Fridays,  and  Mas'  Adam 
he  cured  my  hawgs  with  nothing  but  a  sack 
full  of  green  cabbage  heads  in  January,  he 
did,"  said  Rufus,  as  he  rolled  his  big  black 
eyes  and  mysteriously  shook  his  old  head 
with  its  white  kinks.  "No  physic  a-tall,  jest 
cabbage  and  a  few  turnips  mixed  in  the 
mash.  Yes,  m'm,  dey  does  go  to  the  devil 
of  a  Friday,  red-haided  peckerwoods,  dey 
does." 

"By  the  way,  Cradd,  I  want  you  to  see  a 
little  volume  of  the  Odes  I  picked  up  in  Lon- 
don last  year.  The  dealer  was  a  robber,  and 
my  dealer  didn't  want  me  to  buy,  but  I 
thought  of  that  time  you  and  I— 

"Not  one  of  the  Cantridge  edition?" 

"Yes,  and  I  want  you — " 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

During  all  the  rest  of  supper  I  sat  and 
communed  with  my  own  self  while  father 
and  Uncle  Cradd  banqueted  with  the  Im- 
mortals. 

Even  after  we  went  back  into  the  low-ceil- 
inged  old  living-room,  which  was  now  lighted 
by  two  candles  placed  close  together  on  a 
wonderful  old  mahogany  table  before  the 
fire,  one  of  the  dignified  chairs  drawn  up  on 
each  side,  with  my  low  seat  between,  I  was 
busily  mapping  out  a  course  of  action  that 
was  to  begin  with  my  dawn  signal. 

"I  'd  like  to  get  into  the — trunk  as  soon  as 
possible.  There  is  something  I  want  to  look 
up  in  my  chicken  book,"  I  said  before  I 
seated  myself  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the 
battles  that  raged  around  Ilium. 

"Nancy,  my  dear,  you  will  find  that  Ruf  us 
has  arranged  your  Grandmother  Craddock's 
room  for  you,  and  Mary  Beesley  came 
over  to  see  that  all  was  in  order,"  said 
Uncle  Cradd,  coming  and  taking  my  face 
into  his  long,  lean  old  hands.  "God  bless 
you,  my  dear,  and  keep  you  in  His  care 

54 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

here  in  the  home  of  your  forefathers. 
Good-night!"  After  an  absent-minded  kiss 
from  father  I  was  dismissed  with  a  Sanskrit 
blessing  from  somewhere  in  the  valley  of  the 
Euphrates  up  into  my  bedroom  in  the  valley 
of  Old  Harpeth. 

If  I  had  discovered  the  shadow  of  tradi- 
tion in  the  rest  of  the  old  house,  I  walked 
into  the  very  depths  of  them  as  I  entered 
the  bedroom  of  my  foremothers.  Deep 
crimson  coals  of  fire  were  in  a  squat  fireplace, 
and  a  last  smoldering  log  of  some  kind  of 
fragrant  wood  broke  into  fragments  and 
sent  up  a  little  gust  of  blue  and  gold  flame 
as  if  in  celebration  of  my  arrival.  There 
was  the  remnant  of  a  candle  burning  on  a 
small  table  beside  a  bed  that  was  very  near, 
if  not  quite,  five  feet  high,  beside  which  were 
steps  for  the  purposes  of  ascension.  All  the 
rest  of  the  room  was  in  a  blur  of  lavender- 
scented  darkness,  and  I  only  saw  that  both 
side  walls  folded  down  and  were  lit  with  the 
deep  old  gables,  through  the  open  windows 
of  which  young  moon  rays  were  struggling 

55 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

to  help  light  the  situation  for  me.  As  I 
looked  at  that  wide,  puffy  old  bed,  with  a 
blur  of  soft  colors  in  its  quilt  and  the  valance 
around  its  posts  and  tester,  I  suddenly  be- 
came as  utterly  weary  as  a  child  who  sees  its 
mother's  arms  outstretched  at  retiring  time. 
I  don't  know  how  I  got  out  of  my  clothes 
and  into  my  lace  and  ribbons,  with  only  the 
flickering  candle  and  the  dying  log  to  see  by, 
but  in  less  time  than  I  ever  could  have 
dreamed  might  be  consumed  in  the  processes 
of  going  to  bed  I  climbed  the  little  steps  and 
dived  into  the  soft  bosom  of  the  old  four- 
poster. 

"God  bless  me  and  keep  me  in  His  care 
here  in  my  grandmother's  bed,"  I  mur- 
mured after  the  invocation  of  Uncle  Cradd, 
and  that  is  all  I  knew  after  the  first  delicious 
sink  and  soft  huddling  of  my  body  between 
sheets  that  felt  as  if  they  must  be  rich  silk 
and  smelled  of  old  lavender. 

And  then  came  a  dream — a  most  lovely 
dream.  I  was  at  the  opera  in  Gale  Bea- 
con's box,  and  Mr.  G.  Bird  was  out  on  the 

56 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

stage  singing  that  glorious  coo  in  the  aria 
in  Saint-Saens'  "Samson  and  Delilah,"  and 
I  was  trying  to  answer  him.  Suddenly  I 
was  wide  awake  sitting  up  in  a  billowed 
softness,  while  moonlight  of  a  different  color 
was  sifting  in  through  the  gable  windows 
and  the  most  lovely  calling  notes  were  com- 
ing in  on  its  beams.  Without  a  moment's 
hestitation  I  answered  in  about  six  notes  of 
that  Delilah  song  which  was  the  only  sound 
ready  in  my  mind.  Then  I  listened  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  heard  a  reedy  laugh  un- 
der my  window  as  just  the  two  notes  suc- 
ceeding the  ones  I  had  given  forth  came  in 
on  the  dawn  beams.  Then  all  was  as  still 
and  quiet  as  the  hush  of  midnight. 

In  about  two  seconds  I  had  vaulted  forth 
from  between  the  high  posts,  splashed  into 
a  funny  old  wooden  tub  bound  together 
with  brass  rims,  whirled  my  black  mop  into 
a  knot,  slipped  into  the  modish  boots,  cor- 
duroys, and  a  linen  smock,  and  was  running 
out  into  the  peculiar  moon-dawn  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  boy. 

57 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

But  I  was  too  late !  The  silver-moon  sky 
was  growing  rosy  over  behind  the  barn  as 
I  peered  about,  and  a  mist  was  rolling  away 
from  between  the  trees,  but  not  a  soul  in 
all  the  world  was  awake,  and  I  was  alone. 

"Did  he  call  me?"  I  asked  of  myself  un- 
der my  breath.  And  the  answer  I  got  was 
from  the  Golden  Bird,  who  sent  a  long, 
triumphant,  eager  "salutation  to  the  dawn" 
from  out  the  shadows  of  the  barn. 

Eagerly  I  flew  to  him,  and  the  minute  I 
entered  the  apartment  of  the  Bird  family 
I  discovered  that  I  had  been  only  half 
dreaming  about  my  early  morning  opera. 
Pan  had  come  and  gone.  Upon  the  door 
was  pinned  a  piece  of  torn  brown  wrapping- 
paper  upon  which  I  found  these  penciled 
words : 

Give  them  about  two  quarts  of  warm  meal  mash, 
into  which  you  put  some  ground  turnips  at  noon. 
Better  build  about  four  nests  in  the  dark  under 
the  bin,  and  be  sure  to  disinfect  them  by  white- 
washing inside  and  out.  Put  in  clean  hay.  Dust 
all  the  beauties  on  their  heads  and  under  their 
58 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

wings  with  wood  ashes  in  which  you  put  a  little  of 
the  powder  you  '11  find  in  a  piece  of  this  paper  in 
the  right-hand  corner  of  the  bin.  They  '11  want 
a  good  feed  of  ground  grain  at  three  o'clock.  Get 
copperas  from  Rufus  to  put  in  their  water,  and 
I  '11  let  you  know  later  what  else  to  do.  Saluta- 
tions ! 

ADAM 

"I  'm  glad  I  got  up  so  early  if  that 's  the 
day's  program,"  I  gasped  to  myself  as  I 
leaned  against  the  bin  from  which  the 
Golden  Bird  had  already  alighted  and  was 
commanding  the  Ladies  Leghorn  to  descend 
— a  command  which  they  were  obeying  one 
at  a  time  with  outspread  white  wings  that 
were  handled  with  the  height  of  awkward- 
ness. "But  I  '11  do  it  all  if  it  kills  me,"  I 
added,  with  my  head  up,  as  I  began  to  scat- 
ter some  of  the  big  white  grains  that  I  knew 
to  be  corn  and  which,  by  lifting  lids  and 
peering  into  huge  slanting  top  boxes  set 
against  the  wall,  I  discovered  along  with  a 
lot  of  other  small  brown  seed  stuff  that  I 
knew  must  be  wheat.  I  was  glad  that  I  had 

59 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

remembered  that  Adam  had  called  the  room 
the  feed-room  so  I  had  known  where  to  look. 

It  was  so  perfectly  exciting  to  see  all 
those  fluffy  white  members  of  my  family 
fortune  scratching  and  clucking  about  my 
feet  that  I  prolonged  the  process  of  the 
feeding  by  scattering  only  a  few  grains  at  a 
time  until  great  shafts  of  golden  morning 
sun  were  thrusting  themselves  in  through 
the  dim  dusk  and  cobweb-veiled  windows. 

"Morning,  little  Mis'!  I  axes  yo'  pard- 
ing  fer  not  having  breakfast  'fore  sun-up 
fer  you,  but  they  didn't  never  any  Crad- 
dock  ladies  want  theirn  before  nine  o'clock 
before,  they  did  n't,"  came  Rufus's  voice  in 
solemn  words  of  apology  uttered  in  tones  of 
serious  reproof.  As  he  spoke  he  stood  as 
far  from  the  door  of  the  feed-room  as  possi- 
ble and  eyed  the  scratching  Bird  family 
with  the  deepest  disapproval.  "Feed-room 
ain't  no  place  fer  chickens;  they  oughter 
make  they  living  on  bugs  and  worms  and 
sich." 

"These  chickens  are — are  different,  Ru- 

60 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

fus,  and — and  so  am  I,"  I  answered  him 
with  dignity.  "Call  me  when  the  gentle- 
men are  ready  to  breakfast  with  me." 

"They  talked  until  most  daylight,  and  I 
knows  'em  well  enough  to  not  cook  fer  'em 
until  after  ten  o'clock.  They  's  gentlemen, 
they  is."  The  tones  of  his  voice  were  per- 
fectly servile,  though  it  was  plain  to  see  that 
his  mental  processes  were  not. 

"All  right,  I  '11  eat  mine  now,  Rufus,  and 
then  I  want  you  to  get  me  a — a  hammer  and 
some  nails.  Also  a  bucket  of  whitewash," 
I  said  as  I  closed  the  door  upon  the  Birds 
and  preceded  him  to  the  house. 

"Oh,  my  Lawd-a-mussy !"  he  exclaimed 
as  he  dived  into  the  refuge  of  the  kitchen, 
completely  routed,  to  appear  with  my 
breakfast  upon  his  tray  and  with  such  dig- 
nity in  his  mien  that  it  was  pathetic.  I  was 
merciful  while  I  consumed  the  meal  which 
was  an  exact  repetition  of  the  supper  of  the 
ribs  of  the  hog  and  muffins  and  coffee;  then 
I  threw  another  fit  into  him,  to  quote  from 
Matthew  at  his  worst  in  the  way  of  diction. 

61 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Please  set  a  bucket  of  the  wood  ashes 
from  the  living-room  fire  out  at  the  barn  for 
me,  Rufus,"  I  commanded  him  with  pleas- 
ant firmness. 

"Yes,  Madam,"  was  the  answer  I  got  in 
a  tone  of  cold  despair.  It  was  thus  that  the 
feud  with  my  family  traditions  was  estab- 
lished. 

"Also,  Rufus,  please  bring  the  saw  with 
the  hammer  and  the  nails,"  was  my  last 
hand-grenade  as  I  departed  out  the  back 
door  to  the  barn.  From  the  old  clock 
standing  against  the  wall  in  the  back  hall  I 
discovered  the  hour  to  be  exactly  seven- 
thirty,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  what  would 
seem  like  a  week  ahead  of  me  before  the  set- 
ting of  the  sun.  However,  I  was  wrong  in 
my  judgment,  for  time  fairly  fled  from  me, 
and  it  was  nine  o'clock  by  my  platinum 
wrist-watch  before  I  had  more  than  got  one 
very  wobbly -looking  box  nailed  together  on 
the  floor  of  the  barn,  and  I  was  deep  in  both 
pride  and  exhaustion. 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  knew  I  could  do  it,  but  I  didn't  be- 
lieve it,"  I  was  remarking  to  myself  in  great 
congratulations  when  a  shadow  fell  across 
the  light  from  the  door.  I  looked  up  and, 
behold,  Mrs.  Silas  Beesley  loomed  up 
against  the  sun  and  seemed  to  shine  with 
equal  refulgence  to  my  delighted  eyes!  In 
her  hand  she  held  a  plate  covered  with  a 
snowy  napkin,  and  her  blue  eyes  danced 
with  delighted  astonishment. 

"Well,  well,  Nancy!"  she  exclaimed,  as 
she  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  by  the  door 
and  began  to  fan  herself  with  a  corner  of  a 
snowy  kerchief  that  crossed  her  ample 
bosom.  "Looks  like  you  have  begun  saw- 
ing and  nailing  at  the  Craddock  family  es- 
tate pretty  early  in  the  action  though  it 's 
none  too  soon,  and  mighty  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  do  it  while  there  is  still  a  little  odd  lum- 
ber left.  I  've  always  said  that  it 's  women 
folks  that  prop  a  family  and  it  will  soon 
tumble  without  'em.  I  am  so  glad  you  Ve 
come,  honeybunch,  that  tears  are  laughing 

63 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

themselves  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eyes." 
This  time  the  white  kerchief  was  dabbed  over 
the  keen  blue  eyes. 

"Is  it  all — very — very  bad,  Mrs. — I  mean, 
Aunt  Mary?"  I  asked,  as  I  laid  down  my 
dull-toothed  instrument  for  the  dissection  of 
the  plank,  and  sank  cross-legged  on  the  barn 
floor  in  front  of  her. 

"Oh,  it  might  be  worse,"  she  answered  as 
she  smiled  again  with  resolution.  "Rufus 
has  eleven  nice  hogs  and  feed  enough  for 
them  until  summer,  thanks  to  the  help  of 
Adam  in  tending  the  ten-acre  river-bottom 
field,  which  they  made  produce  more  than 
any  one  else  in  the  river  bend  got  off  of 
fifty.  Nobody  can  take  the  house,  because 
it  is  hitched  on  to  you  with  entailment,  and 
though  the  croppers  have  skimmed  off  all 
the  cream  of  the  land,  the  clay  bottom  of  it 
is  obliged  to  be  yours.  Now  that  you  and 
William  have  come  with  a  little  money  the 
fields  can  all  be  restored.  Adam  will  help 
you  like  he  did  Hiram  Wade  down  the  road 

64 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

there.  It  only  cost  him  about  ten  dollars  to 
the  acre. 

"But— but  father  and  I— that  is,  Aunt 
Mary,  you  know  father  has  lost  all  his  prop- 
erty and  Uncle  Cradd  assured  us  that — that 
there  was  plenty  for  us  all  at  Elmnest,"  I 
said  in  a  faltering  tone  of  voice  as  a  feeling 
of  descending  tragedy  struck  into  my  heart. 

"Cradd  and  Rufus  have  lived  on  hog,  head, 
heels,  and  tail  for  over  a  year,  with  nothing 
else  but  the  corn  meal  that  Rufus  trades 
meat  with  Silas  for.  I  thought,  honey- 
bunch,  when  I  saw  you  coming  so  stylish  and 
beautiful  with  those  none-such  chickens  that 
you  must  have  been  bringing  a  silk  purse 
sewed  with  gold  thread  with  you.  I  said  to 
Silas  as  he  put  out  the  lamp  last  night,  'The 
good  Lord  may  let  His  deliverance  horses 
lag  along  the  track,  but  He  always  drives 
them  in  on  the  home  stretch  for  His  own, 
of  which  Moseby  Craddock  is  one.'  'Why, 
she 's  so  fine  she  can't  eat  eggs  outen 
chickens  that  costs  less  than  maybe  a  hun- 

65 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

dred  dollars  the  dozen,'  answered  Silas  to 
me  as  he  put  out  the  cat." 

"They  cost  eight  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars and  they  are  all  I  have  got  in  the  world. 
Father  gave  up  everything,  and  I  sold  my 
clothes  and  the  cars  to  buy  back  his  library 
and — and  the  chickens,"  I  said  with  the  ter- 
ror pressing  still  more  heavily  down  upon 
me. 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  call  them  chickens 
spilled  milk.  Just  listen  at  'em!"  And 
just  as  we  had  arrived  at  the  point  of  des- 
peration in  our  conversation  a  diversion  oc- 
curred in  the  way  of  two  loud  cacklings  from 
the  feed-room  and  the  most  ringing  and 
triumphant  crow  that  I  am  sure  ever  issued 
from  the  throat  of  a  thoroughbred  cock. 
"  'T  ain't  possible  for  'em  to  have  laid  this 
quick  after  traveling,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  but 
she  was  almost  as  fleet  as  I  was  in  her 
progress  to  the  feed-room  door.  And  be- 
hold! 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  about  that,  right 
out  of  the  crate  just  last  night,  no  nests  nor 

66 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

nothing!"  she  exclaimed  as  we  both  paused 
and  gazed  at  two  huge  white  eggs  in  hastily 
scratched  nests  beside  the  bin  over  which  two 
of  the  very  most  lovely  white  Leghorn  ladies 
were  proudly  standing  and  clucking,  while 
between  them  Mr.  G.  Bird  was  crowing  with 
such  evident  pride  that  I  was  afraid  he  would 
split  his  crimson  throat.  All  the  other 
white  Birds  were  clucking  excitedly  as  if  is- 
suing hen  promissory  notes  upon  their 
futures. 

"They  're  omens  of  good  luck,  bless  the 
Lord,  Honeybunch.  Pick  'em  right  up!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Silas. 

"Oh,  they  are  warm!"T  cried  as  I  picked 
the  two  treasures  up  with  reverent  hands 
and  cuddled  them  against  the  linen  of  the 
smock  over  my  breast  in  which  my  heart  was 
beating  high  with  excitement.  And  as  I 
held  them  there  all  threat  of  life  vanished 
never  to  return,  no  matter  through  what 
vicissitudes  the  Golden  Bird  family  and  I 
were  to  pass. 

"You  can  eat  these,  and  next  week  you 

67 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

can  begin  to  save  for  a  setting  as  soon  as  you 
can  get  a  hen  ready.  I  '11  lend  you  the  first 
one  of  mine  that  broods,"  said  Mrs.  Silas  as 
she  took  both  the  beautiful  treasures  into  one 
of  her  large  hands  with  what  I  thought  was 
criminal  carelessness,  but  did  n't  like  to  say 
so. 

"I  've  ordered  a  three-hundred-egg  incu- 
bator for  them,"  I  said  proudly,  as  I  gently 
took  the  warm  treasures  back  into  my  hand. 
"Incubators  are  so  much  more  sanitary  and 
intelligent  than  hens,"  I  added  with  all  the 
surety  of  the  advertisement  for  the  mechan- 
ical hen  which  I  had  answered  with  thirty- 
five  dollars  obtained  from  the  sale  of  the  last 
fluffy  petticoat  I  had  hoped  to  retain,  but 
which  I  gave  up  gladly  after  reading  the 
advertisement.  Two  most  lovely  chemises 
had  gone  for  the  two  brooders  that  were  to 
accompany  the  incubator,  and  it  seemed  hard 
to  think  that  I  would  have  to  wait  ten  days 
to  receive  the  fruits  of  my  feminine  sacrifice 
from  the  slow  shipping  service  of  the  rail- 
road. 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Don't  ever  say  that  again,  Nancy! 
Hens  have  more  genuine  wisdom  growing  at 
the  roots  of  their  pin  feathers  than  most 
women  display  during  the  span  of  their  en- 
tire lives,  and  they  make  very  much  better 
mothers,"  reproved  Aunt  Mary,  with  sweet 
firmness.  "Just  you  wait  and  see  which 
brings  out  your  prize  birds,  the  wooden  box 
or  the  hen.  When  men  invent  something 
with  a  mother's  heart,  they  had  better  name 
it  angel  and  admit  that  the  kingdom  has 
come.  Bless  my  soul;  these  biscuits  I 
brought  over  for  you-all's  breakfast  are 
stone-cold!" 

"I  've  had  my  breakfast  a  half  a  day  ago/' 
I  answered.  "You  go  in  and  start  father 
and  Uncle  Cradd  off  with  the  biscuits  while 
I  finish  the  nest  and — and  do  some  more 
things  for  my  family  fortune." 

"Child,  if  you  attempt  to  do  the  things 
that  Adam  wants  you  to  do  for  and  with 
live  stock  you  may  see  miracles  being  hatched 
out  and  born,  but  you  '11  be  too  worn  out  to 
notice  'em.  Trap  nests  indeed!  I  Ve  got 

69 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

to  have  some  time  to  make  my  water  waves 
and  offer  daily  prayer!"  And  with  this 
ejaculation  of  good-natured  indignation, 
evidently  at  the  memory  of  sundry  and 
various  poultry  prods,  Mrs.  Silas  betook  her- 
self to  the  house  with  a  beautiful  and  serene 
dignity.  As  she  went  she  stopped  to  break 
a  sprig  from  a  huge  old  lilac  that  was  be- 
ginning to  burst  its  brown  buds  and  to  put 
up  half  a  yard  of  rambler  that  trailed  across 
the  path  with  its  treacherous  thorns. 

"Your  lilacs  are  breaking  scent  already," 
she  called  back  to  me  over  her  shoulder. 

A  woman  can  experience  no  greater  sensa- 
tion of  joy  than  that  which  she  feels  when 
she  first  realizes  that  she  is  the  mistress  of 
a  lilac  bush.  Neither  her  debut  dance  nor 
her  first  proposal  of  sentiment  equals  it.  It 
is  the  same  way  about  the  first  egg  she 
gathers  with  her  own  hands;  the  sensation 
is  indescribable. 

"I  '11  do  all  the  things  he  says  do  for  you 
and  the  family,  Mr.  G.  Bird,  if  it  kills  me,  as 
it  probably  will,"  I  said  with  resolution  as  I 

70 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

drove  a  last  wobbly  nail  into  the  first  nest, 
and  took  up  the  saw  to  again  attack  the  odds 
and  ends  of  old  plank  I  had  collected  on  the 
barn  floor.  "If  I  can  make  one  nest  in  two 
hours,  I  can  make  two  more  in  four  more, 
and  then  I  will  have  time  for  the  rest  of  the 
things,"  I  assured  myself  as  I  again  looked 
at  my  wrist-watch,  and  began  to  saw  with 
my  knee  holding  the  tough  old  plank  in 
place  across  a  rickety  box. 


71 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  is  beautiful  how  sometimes  deserving 
courage  is  rewarded  if  it  just  goes  on 
deserving  long  enough.  After  about  an 
hour's  hand-to-saw  bout  with  the  old  plank 
I  was  just  chewing  through  the  last  inch  of 
the  last  of  the  four  sides  of  nest  number  two 
when  I  suddenly  stopped  and  listened.  Far 
away  to  the  front  of  the  house  I  heard  hot 
oaths  being  uttered  by  the  engine  in  a  huge 
racing-machine  with  a  powerful  chug  with 
which  I  was  quite  familiar.  While  I  lis- 
tened, the  motor  in  agony  gave  a  snort  as  it 
bounded  over  some  kind  of  obstruction  and 
in  two  seconds,  as  I  stood  saw  in  hand,  with 
not  enough  time  to  wipe  the  sweat  of  toil 
from  my  brow,  the  huge  blue  machine  swept 
around  the  corner  of  the  house,  brought  up 
beside  the  family  coach,  which  was  still 
standing  in  front  of  the  barn,  and  Matthew 
flung  himself  out  of  it  and  to  my  side. 
72 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Holy  smokers,  Ann,  but  you  look  good 
in  that  get-up !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  regarded 
me  with  the  delight  with  which  a  person 
might  greet  a  friend  or  relative  whom  he 
had  long  considered  dead  or  lost.  "Why, 
you  look  just  as  if  you  had  stepped  right 
out  of  the  'Elite  Review.'  And  the  saw,  too, 
makes  a  good  note  of  human  interest." 

"Well,  it 's  chicken  interest  and  not  hu- 
man, Matthew  Berry,"  I  said,  answering  his 
levity  with  spirit.  "And  I  'm  sorry  I  can't 
be  at  home  for  your  amusement  to-day,  but 
my  chickens  are  laying  while  I  wait,  and  the 
least  I  can  do  is  to  get  these  nests  ready  for 
'em.  You  '11  excuse  me,  won't  you,  and  go 
in  to  talk  with  father  and  Uncle  Cradd?" 

"They  're  not  producing  dividends  al- 
ready, are  they,  Ann?  Why,  you  only 
started  the  Consolidated  Egg  Co.  yester- 
day!" exclaimed  Matthew,  with  insulting 
doubt  of  my  veracity  in  his  voice. 

"Look  there!"  I  said,  as  I  pointed  to  my 
two  large  pearls,  which  I  had  carefully  put 
in  the  soft  felt  hat  I  had  purchased  to  go 

73 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

with  the  smocks  for  fifteen  dollars  at 
Goertz's. 

''Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that?"  ex- 
claimed Matthew,  with  real  astonishment,  as 
he  sat  down  on  his  heels  and  took  the  two 
treasures  into  his  highly  manicured  hands. 
"Gee,  they  are  right  hot  off  the  bat!"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  detected  some  of  the  warmth 
still  left  in  them,  I  suppose. 

"Yes,  and  I  've  got  to  get  these  nests  done 
right  away  so  as  to  be  ready  to  catch  the 
rest  of  them,"  I  said  and  began  to  saw  fu- 
riously, as  if  I  were  constructing  a  bucket  to 
catch  a  deluge. 

"Say,  gimme  the  saw,  Ann,  and  you  get 
the  fodder  and  things  to  put  in  the  bottom 
of  them  to  keep  them  from  smashing  as  they 
come,"  said  Matthew,  as  he  flung  off  his 
coat,  jammed  his  motor-cap  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  took  the  saw  from  my  unresist- 
ing hand. 

"I  '11  get  the  whitewash  and  whiten  them 
as  you  finish  them,"  I  said,  as  I  hurriedly 
consulted  the  torn  piece  of  wrapping-paper 

74 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

I  took  from  one  of  the  huge  pockets  of  my 
smock. 

"All  right,  but  you  had  better  hump  your- 
self, for  I  believe  I  'm  going  to  be  some  car- 
penter. This  saw  has  a  kind  of  affinity  feel- 
ing to  my  hand,"  said  Matthew,  as  he  put  his 
foot  on  one  end  of  the  plank  and  began  to 
make  the  saw  fly  through  the  wood  like  a  silver 
knife  through  fluffy  cake.  If  saws  were  the 
only  witnesses,  the  superiority  of  men  over 
women  would  be  established  in  very  short 
order.  "And  say,  Ann,  I  wish  you  would  be 
thinking  what  you  are  going  to  charge  for 
a  half  interest  in  this  business.  Law  and 
real  estate  look  slow  to  me  after  these  re- 
turns right  before  my  eyes,"  he  added,  as  he 
stopped  to  move  the  pearl  treasures  farther 
out  of  the  way  of  a  possible  flying  plank. 

"I  'm  going  to  give  you  one  of  them  to  take 
home  with  you,  Matt,"  I  answered,  with  a 
most  generous  return  of  his  appreciation  of 
these  foundation  pebbles  of  my  family  for- 
tune. Then  I  went  to  appeal  to  Rufus  for 
the  whitewash. 

75 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"They 's  a  half  barrel  uf  lime  and  a 
bucket  and  bresh  in  the  corner  uf  the  barn 
what  Mas'  Adams  made  me  git,  he  did ;  but 
it 's  f er  the  hawgs  and  can't  be  wasted  on  no 
chickens,"  he  said,  answering  my  very  cour- 
teous request  with  a  great  lack  of  gracious- 
ness. 

"The  chickens  will  pay  it  back  to  the 
hogs,  Rufus,"  I  answered  airily  as  I  ran 
back  to  the  barn,  eager  for  the  fray. 

And  a  gorgeous  fray  it  was,  with  Matthew 
whistling  and  directing  and  pounding  and 
having  the  time  of  his  very  frivolous  life. 

Now,  of  course,  nobody  in  these  advanced 
times  thinks  that  it  is  not  absolutely  pos- 
sible, even  easy,  for  a  woman  to  live  any 
kind  of  constructive  life  she  chooses  entirely 
without  assistance  from  a  man,  but  she  '11  get 
to  the  place  she  has  started  for  just  about 
a  year  after  she  would  have  arrived  if  a 
man  had  happened  along  to  do  the  sawing. 
The  way  my  friend  Matthew  Berry  cut  and 
hammered  off  one  by  one  the  directions  on 
that  piece  of  paper  in  my  smock  pocket 

76 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

would  have  proved  the  proposition  above 
stated  to  any  doubtful  woman.  And  while 
Matthew  and  I  had  had  many  happy  times 
together  at  balls  and  parties  and  dinners 
and  long  flights  in  our  cars  and  at  the  theatre 
and  opera,  also  in  dim  corners  in  gorgeous 
clothes,  I  am  sure  we  had  never  been  so 
happy  as  we  were  that  morning  while  we  la- 
bored together  in  the  interest  of  Mr.  G.  Bird 
and  family.  We  went  beyond  the  paper 
directions  and  delved  in  my  book  and  ham- 
mered away  until,  when  Rufus,  with  stately 
coldness,  announced  some  time  after  noon 
that  dinner  was  served,  we  both  declared 
that  it  was  impossible,  though  Matthew  was 
at  that  moment  performing  the  last  chore 
commanded  by  dusting  the  medicated  ashes 
under  the  last  wing  of  the  last  Lady  Leg- 
horn, held  tenderly  in  my  arms.  The  mash 
had  been  concocted  and  heated  in  the 
cleansed  whitewash  bucket  over  a  fire  impro- 
vised by  Matthew  between  two  stones  beside 
the  barn,  because  I  did  not  dare  disturb 
Rufus  again,  and  the  model  nests  were  all  in 

77 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

place  and  ready  for  the  downpour  of  pearls 
that  we  expected  at  any  time,  and  there  was 
nothing  left  to  do  that  we  could  think  of  or 
read  about  in  the  book. 

"Let 's  go  in  and  get  a  bite  with  Father 
Craddock  and  the  twin,  and  then  we  '11  read 
things  to  do  this  afternoon  in  the  book  where 
you  got  those  directions,"  said  Matthew  as 
he  started  towards  the  house  in  the  wake  of 
Rufus'  retiring  apron. 

I  had  n't  broken  Pan  to  Matthew,  and  I 
didn't  know  exactly  why.  Perhaps  I 
did  n't  quite  believe  in  the  red-headed  Peck- 
erwood  myself  just  then,  and  felt  unable  to 
incarnate  him  to  Matthew. 

Uncle  Cradd's  welcome  to  Matthew  was 
very  stately  and  friendly  when  we  went  in 
and  found  him  and  father  in  their  high-back 
chairs  on  each  side  of  the  table,  waging  the 
classic  argument  that  Rufus  had  reported 
them  to  have  discontinued  at  an  early  hour 
of  the  morning.  Father  was  delighted  with 
the  package  of  books  that  Matthew  had 
brought  out  with  him  in  his  car,  because 

78 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

father  considered  them  too  valuable  to  be 
transported  in  the  wagon  which  was  to  bring 
the  rest  of  the  library. 

"Just  a  little  of  the  cream  of  the  collec- 
tion, Cradd,"  he  said  as  he  unwrapped  a 
small  leather-covered  volume  which  Matthew 
had  transported  in  the  pocket  over  his  heart. 

"Just  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of 
cream,"  whispered  Matthew  to  me,  with  a 
whimsical  look  at  the  small  and  very  ancient 
specimen  of  Americana.  "It  is  a  good  thing 
that  Senator  Proctor  has  only  Belle  and  let 
her  have  the  six  thousand  cash  for  the  Chau- 
venaise,  and  Bess  wanted  your  little  Royal 
in  a  hurry,  though  she  got  a  bargain  at  that. 
Still  the  library  is  really  worth  five  times 
what  you  paid." 

"Sh— hush!"  I  said  as  I  led  the  way  be- 
fore the  parental  twins  into  the  old  dining- 
room.  Father  had  n't  even  questioned  how 
he  was  to  have  the  library  saved  for  him,  and 
of  course  Uncle  Cradd  knew  nothing  at  all 
about  the  matter. 

After  seating  me  with  the  same  ceremony 

79 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

he  had  employed  since  my  arrival  into  the 
family,  though  with  hostility  bristling  psy- 
chologically for  my  plebeian  intrusion  into 
his  traditions  of  the  Craddock  ladies,  Rufus 
appalled  me  by  offering  me  for  the  third 
time  since  my  arrival  at  Elmnest  roasted  ribs 
of  the  hog,  muffins  and  coffee.  Only  my 
training  in  the  social  customs  of  a  world  be- 
yond the  ken  of  Rufus  kept  me  from  ex- 
claiming with  protest,  but  I  came  to  myself 
to  discover  that  Matthew  was  devouring 
huge  slabs  of  the  roasted  bones  and  half  a 
dozen  batches  of  the  corn  bread  in  a  manner 
that  was  ravenously  unconventional.  'I  re- 
membered that  the  last  time  I  had  been  him 
at  repast,  just  about  forty-eight  hours  past, 
he  had  speared  a  croquette  of  chicken  with 
disdain,  and  I  decided  not  to  apologize  for 
the  meal  even  in  the  most  subtle  way.  Also 
the  spectacle  of  father  polishing  off  the  small 
bones,  when  I  remembered  the  efforts  of 
devoted  Henri  to  tempt  his  appetite  with 
sophisticated  food,  filled  me  with  a  queer 
primitive  feeling  that  made  it  possible  for  me 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

to  fall  upon  my  series  of  the  ribs  with  an 
ardor  which  I  had  thought  I  was  incapable 
of. 

"I  call  that  some  food,"  sighed  Matthew, 
as  he  regarded  the  pile  of  bones  in  his  plate 
with  the  greatest  satisfaction  in  his  appeased 
eyes.  I  felt  Rufus  melt  behind  me  as  he 
passed  the  muffins  again. 

"The  native  food  of  the  Harpeth  Valley 
nourishes  specially  fine  men — and  very 
beautiful  women,"  answered  Uncle  Cradd, 
with  a  glance  of  pride,  first  at  me  and  then 
at  father  in  his  spare,  but  muscular,  upright- 
ness and  finally  at  Matthew,  with  his  one 
hundred  and  eighty  pounds  of  brawn  packed 
on  his  six-foot  skeleton  in  the  most  beautiful 
lines  and  curves  of  strength  and  distinction. 

"Oh,  that  reminds  me,  Mr.  Craddock,  and 
you,  too,  Father  of  Ann,"  said  Matthew,  as 
he  reached  into  his  pocket  and  hurriedly 
drew  out  a  huge  letter.  "I  have  a  proposi- 
tion that  came  to  the  firm  this  morning  to 
talk  over  with  you  two  gentlemen.  Ann 
thought  I  came  out  to  help  her  settle  the 

81 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Bird  family  comfortably,  and  for  a  while  I 
forgot  and  thought  so  too,  but  now  I  '11  have 
to  ask  you  two  gentlemen  to  talk  business, 
though  I  must  confess  the  matter  puzzles 
me  not  a  little." 

"The  art  of  dining  and  the  craft  of  busi- 
ness should  never  be  commingled;  let  us  re- 
pair to  the  library,"  said  Uncle  Cradd,  thus 
placing  the  spare  ribs  in  an  artistic  atmos- 
phere and  at  the  same  time  aiming  an  arrow 
of  criticism,  though  unconscious,  at  the  cus- 
tom of  the  world  out  over  Paradise  Ridge  of 
feeding  business  conditions  down  the  throat 
of  an  adversary  with  his  food  and  drink,  spe- 
cially drink. 

"I  don't  know  why,  but  I  'm  scared  to 
death  now  that  I  'm  up  against  it,"  Matthew 
confided  to  me  as  he  first  took  a  legal-look- 
ing piece  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and  then 
hastily  put  it  back  as  he  and  I  followed  the 
parental  twins  down  the  hall  and  into  the 
library. 

"Will  you  rescue  me,  Ann?"  he  whispered 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

as  he  ceremoniously  seated  me  in  my  low 
chair  and  took  a  straight  one  beside  father 
as  Uncle  Cradd  stood  tall,  huge  and  tower- 
ing on  the  old  home-woven  rug  before  the 
small  fire  in  the  huge  rock  chimney. 

"Yes,"  I  answered  as  I  settled  back  in  the 
little  chair  and  took  one  passionately  de- 
lighted look  around  the  old  room,  which  I  was 
seeing  in  the  broad  light  of  day  for  the  first 
time.  I  am  glad  that  the  old  home  which 
had  been  the  stronghold  of  my  foremothers 
and  fathers  was  thus  revealed  to  me  in  half 
lights  and  a  little  at  a  time ;  I  could  n't  have 
stood  the  ecstasy  of  it  all  at  once.  The  room 
was  the  low-beamed  old  wonder  that  I  had 
felt  it  to  be  in  the  candle-light  the  night  be- 
fore, only  now  the  soft  richness  of  the  pan- 
eling, which  held  back  into  the  gloom  the 
faded  colors  of  the  books  that  lined  the  walls, 
the  mellowed  glow  of  the  rough  stone  of  the 
chimney,  and  the  faded  hand-woven  rugs  on 
the  floor  made  it  all  look  like  one  of  Rem- 
brandt's or  Franz  Hals'  canvases.  But  in 
88 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

a  few  seconds  I  came  back  from  the  joy  of 
it  to  a  consciousness  of  what  Matthew  Berry 
was  saying. 

"You  see,"  he  was  explaining  with  en- 
thusiasm, "that  this  new  form  of  office  for 
the  state  commissioner  of  agriculture  is 
really  a  part  of  the  great  program  of  pre- 
paredness that  has  been  evolving  here  in 
America  since  the  Great  War  began,  and 
nobody  knows  just  what  to  expect  of  it  as 
yet.  The  request  from  the  President  for  the 
appointment  of  Evan  Baldwin  to  take  the 
portfolio  in  the  State  of  Harpeth  has  made 
everybody  see  that  the  President  means 
business  with  the  States,  and  that  America 
is  to  be  made  to  produce  her  own  food  and 
the  food  of  the  rest  of  the  world  that  needs  it. 
When  a  scientist  like  Baldwin,  worth  mil- 
lions and  with  experiment  stations  of  hun- 
dreds of  acres  in  most  states  in  the  Union, 
which  are  coining  more  millions  with  their 
propagation  output,  steps  out  and  stands 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Edison  in  working 
to  get  the  United  States  prepared  to  feed 

84 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  world  as  well  as  to  fend  off  any  of  that 
world  that  menaces  it,  the  rest  of  us  have  got 
to  get  up  and  hustle,  some  with  a  musket  and 
some  with  a  plow." 

"And  some  with  an  egg-basket,"  I  added, 
as  my  cheeks  began  to  glow  with  something 
I  had  n't  ever  felt  before,  but  which  I  clas- 
sified as  patriotism. 

"My  country  has  only  to  call  us  and  we  '11 
answer  to  the  whole  of  our  kingdom,  Wil- 
liam and  I.  We  were  lads  too  young  to 
carry  muskets  against  her  in  the  Civil  war, 
but  we,  with  Rufus,  plowed  these  acres  with 
children's  strength,  and  the  larger  portion  of 
our  products  went  to  feed  hungry  soldiers 
both  blue  and  gray.  I  say,  just  let  my  coun- 
try call  William  and  me !"  As  Uncle  Cradd 
spoke,  his  back  straightened,  and  I  saw  that 
he  must  have  been  every  inch  of  six  feet  three 
in  his  youth.  "William?" 

"With  you,  Cradd,"  answered  father 
quietly,  and  I  felt  that  that  formula  was  the 
one  by  which  they  had  lived  their  joint 
youth. 

85 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Well,  that  is  about  what  they  are  asking 
of  you,  Mr.  Craddock,"  said  Matthew,  his 
cheeks  red  with  the  glow  of  the  blood  Uncle 
Cradd  had  called  up  in  his  enthusiastic  heart. 
"The  new  State  secretary  of  agriculture 
has  asked  our  firm  to  undertake  negotiations 
for  the  purchase  of  Elmnest,  for  a  recruiting 
station  for  the  experts  who  are  to  take  over 
the  organizing  of  the  farming  interests  in  the 
Harpeth  Valley,  which  is  the  central  section 
of  the  State  of  Harpeth.  They  offer  three 
hundred  dollars  an  acre  for  the  whole  tract 
of  two  hundred  acres,  despite  the  fact  that 
some  of  it  is  worn  almost  to  its  subsoil. 
They  consider  that  as  valuable,  because  they 
wish  to  give  demonstrations  and  try  experi- 
ments in  land  restoration,  though  very  little 
of  that  is  needed  here  in  the  valley.  It 's  a 
pretty  big  thing,  Mr.  Craddock  and  Father 
William,  sixty  thousand  dollars  will  provide 
all  the—" 

"Did  I  understand  that  this  proposition  is 
put  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  demand  of  our 
Government  upon  our  patriotism?"  asked 

86 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Uncle  Cradd  in  a  booming  voice,  while 
father  only  looked  uncertain  and  ready  to 
say,  "With  you,  Cradd."  I  sat  speechless 
for  a  moment,  with  a  queer  pain  in  my  heart 
that  I  did  not  for  the  first  second  under- 
stand. 

"Well,  not  exactly  that,  Mr.  Craddock, 
but  something  like  it  in  a — "  Matthew  was 
beginning  to  say  in  a  judicial  way. 

"That  is  enough,  Matthew  Berry,  son  of 
the  friend  of  my  youth.  If  the  United 
States  needs  Elmnest  for  national  defenses, 
I  am  willing  to  give  it  up — indeed  insist  on 
presenting  it  to  the  Government  except  for 
a  small  part  of  the  sum  mentioned,  which 
is  needed  for  the  simple  and  declining  lives  of 
my  brother  William,  Rufus,  and  me,  and 
my  niece  Nancy.  Will  you  so  convey  our 
answer,  William?" 

"With  you,  Cradd,"  came  the  devoted 
formula  with  which  father  slipped  back 
finally  into  the  dependence  of  his  youth. 

"Good,  Mr.  Craddock,"  exclaimed  Mat- 
thew, and  I  could  see  visions  of  Ann  Crad- 

87 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

dock  reclaimed  from  her  farmer's  smock  in  a 
ball-gown  upon  the  floor  of  the  country  club 
in  the  fleeting  glance  of  triumph  he  gave  me. 
"Of  course,  about  the  price — " 

Then  in  that  counsel  of  the  mighty  arose 
Ann  Craddock,  farmwoman  in  the  strong- 
hold of  her  worn-out  acres. 

"Is  it  or  is  it  not  true,  Uncle  Cradd,  that 
no  deed  to  this  property  can  be  made  with- 
out my  consent?"  I  asked  calmly. 

"Why,  yes,  Nancy,"  answered  Uncle 
Cradd,  indulgently.  "But  this  is  a  matter 
for  your  father  and  me  to  decide  for  you. 
I  am  sure  you  cannot  fail  in  patriotism,  my 
child." 

"I  don't,"  I  answered.  "I  am  going  to 
be  more  patriotic  than  any  woman  ever  was 
before.  I  am  not  going  to  sell  my  Grand- 
mother's rosebushes  in  their  gardens  or  the 
acres  that  have  nourished  my  family  since  its 
infancy  in  America  long  before  this  Evan 
Baldwin  ever  had  any  family,  I  feel  sure, 
for  sixty  thousand  dollars  to  go  back  and 
sit  down  in  a  corner  with.  I  am  going  to 
88 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

demonstrate  to  the  United  States  what  one 
woman  can  do  in  the  way  of  nutriment  pro- 
duction aided  by  one  beautiful  rooster  and 
ten  equally  beautiful  hens,  and  when  they 
begin  to  take  stock  of  the  resources  of  this 
Government,  we  women  of  the  Harpeth  Val- 
ley will  be  there  with  our  egg-baskets.  Just 
take  that  answer  to  your  Mr.  Evan  Baldwin, 
Matthew  Berry,  and  I  '11  never  forgive  you 
for  this  insult." 

"Nancy!"  ejaculated  Uncle  Cradd  with 
stern  amazement. 

"Can't  do  a  thing  with  her  when  she  looks 
like  that,  Cradd,"  said  father,  as  he  com- 
fortably lighted  a  cigar  and  drew  the  small 
leather-covered  book  towards  him  with  hun- 
gry fingers. 

"Now,  Ann,"  began  Matthew,  in  the 
soothing  tone  of  voice  he  had  seen  fail  on 
me  many  times,  "you  don't  understand  en- 
tirely, and  your  situation  is  pretty  desperate 
in—" 

"I  do,  I  do  understand  that  when  I  refuse 
this  offer  I  am  assuming  enormous  obliga- 

89 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

tions,  Matthew  Berry,"  I  answered,  with 
my  head  in  the  air  and  absolute  courage  in 
my  heart. 

"I  ask  you  to  bear  witness,  Matthew,  to 
what  my  answer  to  the  demand  of  my  coun- 
try would  have  been  if  I  alone  could  have 
answered,  but  Nancy  is  within  her  rights, 
and  I  protect  the  rights  of  a  woman  before 
those  of  any  man,"  said  Uncle  Cradd,  and 
there  was  not  a  trace  of  relief  in  his  fine  old 
face  that  he  was  to  be  saved  from  a  parting 
with  the  land  that  had  been  the  love  of  his 
life,  but  one  of  affectionate  regard  and  ad- 
miration for  me.  "Also  say  to  the  secre- 
tary of  agriculture  that  a  Craddock  woman 
is  as  good  as  her  word,  and  that  the  Harpeth 
Valley  can  be  depended  upon  to  lead  the 
United  States  in  the  production  of  eggs  in 
— when  shall  I  promise,  Nancy?" 

"About — about  a  year,"  I  answered, 
searching  in  my  mind  for  some  data  from 
the  huge  red  book  as  to  when  wealth  from 
the  hen  could  be  expected  to  roll  in  in  re- 
sponse to  the  "good  management"  I  felt  even 

95 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

then  capable  of  displaying.  Even  now  I 
can't  blame  myself  for  over-confidence 
when  I  think  of  the  two  white  pearls  in  my 
hat  on  the  table  beside  father's  book. 

"Better  make  it  two,"  advised  Matthew 
cautiously,  but  with  a  gleam  of  enthusiasm 
as  he  also  glanced  at  the  eggs.  That  gleam 
was  what  earned  my  forgiveness  for  his  dar- 
ing to  come  upon  me  with  such  a  mission. 

"Say  eighteen  months.  That  will  be  the 
end  of  the  second  season,"  I  answered  with 
decision.  "And  it  is  about  time  for  me  to 
give  the  last  feeding  of  my  hostages  to  the 
United  States  and  Mr.  Evan  Baldwin. 
You  '11  excuse  me,  Matthew?"  I  asked  po- 
litely, but  cruelly,  for  I  knew  he  intended  to 
follow  me  immediately. 

"Now  here  is  your  line  of  dispute,  Cradd, 
just  as  I  said,"  exclaimed  father,  who  had 
opened  his  leather  treasure  and  been  hunting 
through  its  pages  even  before  my  heroics  had 
completely  exploded.  And  before  Matthew 
and  I  had  left  the  room,  they  were  off  on  a 
bat  with  some  favorite  Ancient. 

91 


CHAPTER  V 

course,  Ann,  you  do  realize  just  what 
you  are  doing?"  asked  Matthew  of  me, 
as  we  walked  on  the  moss-green  flagstones 
back  to  the  barn,  and  his  voice  was  so  sweet 
and  gentle  with  solicitude  that  I  felt  I  must 
answer  him  seriously  and  take  him  into  my 
confidence.  Affection  is  a  note  that  one 
must  always  make  payment  on. 

"Yes,  Matt,  I  do  realize  that  those  two  are 
in  a  way  children,  for  whose  maintenance  I 
have  made  myself  responsible,  and  my  mind 
is  scared  to  death,  but  my  heart  is  beating 
so  high  with  courage  that  I  can  hardly  stand 
it." 

"Oh,  come  with  me,  Ann,  and  let  me — " 
Matthew  wooed. 

"Matt,"  I  answered  gravely,  "I  haven't 
been  here  twenty-four  hours  yet,  but  when 
the  thought  of  having  it  all  taken  away  came 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

to  me,  something  in  me  rose  and  made  me 
rage,  rage,  as  I  did  in  the  house.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  but  there  is  something  in 
this  low  old  farm-house,  this  tumble-down 
old  barn,  that  leafless  old  garden  with  its 
crumbling  brick  walks,  and  these  neglected, 
worn-out  old  acres,  which  seems  to — to  feed 
me  and  which  I  know  I  would  perish  with- 
out. Oh,  please  understand  and — and  help 
me  a  little  like  you  did  this  morning,"  I 
ended  with  a  broken  plea,  as  I  stretched  out 
my  hand  to  him  just  as  I  entered  the  door  of 
my  barn-castle  of  dreams  for  the  future. 

"Dear  Lord,  the  pluck  of  women!"  Mat- 
thew exclaimed  reverently,  down  in  his 
throat.  "I  '11  be  here,  Ann,  whenever  you 
want  me,  and  if  you  say  that  chickens  must 
fill  my  future  life,  then  chickens  it  shall  be," 
he  added,  rising  to  the  surface  of  the  ques- 
tion again. 

"Oh,  Matt,  you  are  a  darling,  and  I — "  I 
was  exclaiming  when  a  soft  voice  from  out  of 
the  shadows  of  the  barn  interrupted  me  and 
an  apple-blossom  in  the  shape  of  a  girl 

93 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

drifted  into  the  late  afternoon  sunlight  from 
the  direction  of  the  feed-room. 

"I  'm  Polly  Beesley,  and  mother  sent 
these  eggs  to  scramble  with  the  ones  you  got 
this  morning  for  supper,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice  that  was  positively  fragrant  with 
sweetness.  Two  huge  plaits  of  corn-silk  hair 
fell  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  eyes  were 
as  shy  and  blue  as  violets  were  before  they 
became  a  large  commercial  product.  Her 
gingham  dress  was  cut  with  decorum  just 
below  her  shoe-tops  and,  taking  into  consid- 
eration the  prevailing  mode,  its  length,  full- 
ness, and  ruffles  made  the  slim  young  thing 
look  like  a  picture  from  the  same  review 
from  which  I  had  cut  my  smocks.  How- 
ever, I  am  sure  that  if  she  had  been  at  the 
between  six  and  eighteen  age  year  before 
last,  when  about  two  and  a  half  yards  of 
gingham  would  have  been  modish  for  her 
costume,  she  would  still  have  been  attired  in 
the  voluminous  ruffles. 

"Holy  smokes,"  I  thought  I  heard  Mat- 
thew gurgle,  and  I  felt  him  start  at  the  ap- 

94 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

parition,  though  the  young  thing  never  so 
much  as  glanced  in  his  direction  as  she  ten- 
dered me  a  quaint  little  basket  in  which  lay 
half  a  dozen  eggs,  real  homely  brown  eggs 
and  not  pearl  treasures. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Polly  dear,"  I  answered 
with  enthusiasm,  and  in  obedience  to  some 
urge  resulting  from  the  generations  ahead 
of  Polly  and  my  incarnation  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  Riverfield,  my  lips  met  the  rosy 
ones  that  were  held  up  to  me.  I  felt  sorry 
for  Matthew,  and  I  couldn't  restrain  a 
glance  of  mischief  at  him  that  crossed  his 
that  were  fixed  on  the  yellow  braids. 

"I  did  n't  believe  it  of  this  day  and  gen- 
eration," I  heard  him  mutter  as  I  presented 
him  to  Polly,  who  answered  that  she  was 
"pleased  to  make  his  acquaintance,"  in  a 
voice  in  which  terror  belied  the  sentiment  ex- 
pressed. 

In  her  eyes  traces  of  that  same  terror  re- 
mained until  suddenly  the  Golden  Bird 
stepped  proudly  out  of  the  bushes  with  the 
Ladies  Bird,  clucking  and  scratching  along 

95 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

behind  him.  He  had  led  the  family  out  into 
the  pasture  and  was  now  wisely  returning 
them  to  the  barn  before  the  setting  of  the 
sun.  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  him  look 
so  handsome,  and  no  wonder  his  conquest 
was  immediate. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful,"  exclaimed  Polly, 
while  all  restraint  left  her  young  face  and 
body  as  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  Sul- 
tan. "Chick,  chick,  chick,"  she  wooed,  in 
the  words  that  Pan  had  used  to  command, 
and  with  a  delight  equal  to  hers  in  the  in- 
troduction, the  Bird  came  toward  her.  "Oh, 
please,  sir,  Mr. — Mr.  Berry,  get  me  some 
corn  quick — quick!  I  want  to  squeeze  him 
once,"  she  demanded  of  Matthew,  confident 
where  she  had  before  been  fearful.  His 
response  was  long-limbed  and  enthusiastic, 
so  that  in  a  few  seconds  Mr.  G.  Bird  stood 
pecking  grains  from  her  hand.  The  spec- 
tacle was  so  lovely  that  I  was  not  at  all 
troubled  by  twinges  of  jealousy,  but  enjoyed 
it,  for  even  at  that  early  moment  I  think 
I  felt  a  mercenary  interest  in  seeing  the 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

friendship  between  the  Golden  Bird  and  the 
Apple-Blossom  sealed.  In  her  I  psycho- 
logically scented  an  ally,  and  I  enjoyed  the 
hug  bestowed  upon  him  fully  as  much  or 
even  more  than  he  did.  It  was  a  lovely  pic- 
ture that  the  kiddie  made  as  she  knelt  at  our 
feet  with  the  white  fluff  balls  and  wings 
whirring  and  clucking  around  her. 

"Yes ;  let 's  go  into  the  chicken  business, 
Ann,"  said  Matthew,  as  his  eyes  danced  with 
artistic  pleasure.  "You  love  'em,  don't  you, 
Miss — Miss  Corn-tassel?"  he  asked,  with 
teasing  delight  in  his  voice  as  well  as  in  his 
eyes. 

"Yes  sir,"  she  answered  as  she  looked  up 
at  him  merrily,  all  fear  of  him  gone. 

"Say,  what  do  you  think  of  going  into  the 
business  with  your  Uncle  Matthew  if  Ann 
refuses  to  sell  a  half  interest  in  hers  to  me?" 
he  asked  of  her  in  his  jolly  booming  voice, 
with  a  smile  many  inches  wide  across  his 
face.  "I  '11  put  up  the  capital,  you  put  up 
the  work,  and  we  '11  take  all  the  prizes  away 
from  Ann." 

97 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  don't  want  to  take  the  prizes  from  Miss 
Ann.  I  'd  rather  have  Reds  so  we  could 
both  get  ribbons,"  she  answered  as  she  dim- 
pled up  at  me  as  affectionately  as  if  she  had 
tagged  at  my  gingham  skirts  at  our  sixth 
and  second  years. 

"Reds  it  shall  be,  Corn-tassel,  and  I  '11  be 
back  with  them  as  soon  as  an  advertisement 
in  the  daily  papers  can  find  them  for  me. 
I  '11  start  the  search  right  now,"  said  Mat- 
thew, teasing  the  kiddie  as  if  he  had  known 
her  all  his  life,  but  with  an  expression  turn- 
ing to  the  genuine  poultry  business  enthu- 
siasm. "You  and  Ann  come  on  down  to  the 
gate  with  me  in  the  car  and  we  '11  talk — " 

But  just  here  an  interruption  occurred  in 
the  way  of  a  hoarse  squawk  coming  from 
around  the  corner  of  the  house.  Hastily  my 
eye  called  the  roll  of  the  Ladies  of  Leghorn 
and  found  them  all  present  just  as  the  tall 
young  farmer  whose  ears  had  cooled  down  the 
day  before  over  at  Riverfield  enough  to  let 
him  admire  the  Golden  Bird  and  family  ap- 
peared around  from  behind  the  huge  lilac 

08 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

at  the  corner  of  the  house.  He  was  attired 
as  yesterday  in  the  beautiful  dull-blue  over- 
all and  jacket;  his  hair  was  the  color  of 
Polly's  and  shocked  from  under  the  edges  of 
a  floppy  gray  hat,  and  in  his  arms  he  carried 
a  large  hen  the  identical  color  of  Pan's  head. 

"Howdy,  Miss  Nancy,"  he  said  in  a  voice 
as  shy  as  Polly's,  and  his  eyes  were  also  as 
blue  and  shy  as  hers.  He  looked  right 
through  Matthew  until  I  introduced  them, 
then  he  shifted  the  hen  and  shook  hands  with 
Polly's  "Pleased  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance" greeting. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Beesley,"  said 
Matthew,  exerting  more  charm  of  manner 
than  I  had  ever  seen  him  use  before.  "My, 
but  that  is  a  gorgeous  bird  you  have!" 

"She  's  a  right  good  hen,  but  she  's  a  mon- 
grel. There  is  n't  a  single  thoroughbred 
Rhode  Island  Red  hereabouts.  I  aim  to  get 
a  setting  of  pure  eggs  for  Polly  this  spring 
if  I  sell  my  hawgs  as  good  as  Mr.  Adam  per- 
dicks  I  will.  I  brought  her  as  a  present  to 
you,  Miss  Nancy,  'cause  she  's  been  a-brood- 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ing  about  two  days,  and  if  you  get  together  a 
setting  of  eggs  the  last  of  next  week  she  '11 
hatch  'em  all.  She  carried  three  broods  last 
year." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Beesley,  how  lovely  of  you,"  I 
exclaimed,  as  I  reached  out  my  arms  for  the 
gorgeous  old  red  ally.  "I  like  her  better 
than  any  present  I  ever  had  in  all  my  life!" 
This  I  said  before  the  face  of  Matthew 
Berry,  with  a  complete  loss  of  memory  of  all 
of  the  wonderful  things  he  had  been  giving 
me  from  my  debut  bouquet  of  white  orchids 
and  violets  to  the  tiny  scarab  from  the  robe 
of  an  Egyptian  princess  that  I  wore  in  the 
clasp  of  my  platinum  wrist-watch. 

"Well,  I  should  say!"  Matthew  exclaimed, 
with  not  a  thought  of  the  comparison  in  his 
generous  mind.  "Did  you  know  that  your 
sister,  Miss  Polly,  and  I  are  going  into  the 
Rhode  Island  Red  business  together?  We 
were  just  deciding  the  details  as  you  came 
around  the  house.  What  do  you  say  to  com- 
ing in?  How  many  shall  I  buy?  Say, 
about  fifty  hens  and  half  a  dozen  cocks? 
100 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Let 's  start  big  while  we  are  about  it.  If 
Ann  is  going  to  make  three  thousand  dollars 
a  year  off  one  rooster  and  ten  hens,  we  can 
make  fifteen  off  of  five  times  as  many." 

"Yes,  and  we  can  bust  the  business  all  to 
pieces  with  too  much  stock,"  answered  the 
brother  Corn-tassel.  "Miss  Nancy  has  got 
real  horse-sense  starting  small,  and  chicken- 
sense  too." 

"I  stand  corrected,"  answered  Matthew. 
"I  see  that  a  flyer  cannot  be  taken  in 
chickens  any  higher  than  a  hen  can  fly.  I  'm 
growing  heady  over  this  business  and  must 
go  back  to  town  to  set  the  wheels  in  motion. 
All  of  you  ride  down  to  the  gate  with  me 
and  find  out  what  the  word  jolt  means." 

Then  after  housing  the  Bird  family  in  the 
feed-room  with  their  guest,  all  happily  at 
scratch  in  the  hay  for  the  wheat  and  corn 
thrown  to  them  by  the  Corn-tassels  while 
Matthew  and  I  went  in  to  bid  the  paternal 
twins  good-by,  we  all  rode  merrily  and 
joltily  down  the  long  avenue  under  the  old 
elms  to  the  big  gate  at  the  square  in  River- 
101 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

field.  In  front  of  the  post-office-bank-gro- 
cery emporium  we  deposited  the  Corn-tas- 
sels, introduced  Matthew  to  Aunt  Mary  and 
Uncle  Silas,  with  the  most  cordial  results  on 
both  sides,  and  then  turned  in  the  car  out  the 
Riverfield  ribbon  instead  of  in. 

"Just  a  spin  will  do  you  good,  sweet 
thing,"  said  Matthew,  as  I  settled  down  close 
enough  to  his  shoulder  to  talk  and  not  inter- 
rupt the  powerful  engine.  "I  want  you  to 
myself  for  a  small  moment  away  from  your 
live  stock,  human  and  inhuman." 

"Oh,  Matt,  there  is  nobody  just  like  you 
and  you  have  made  this  day — possible,"  I 
said  as  I  snuggled  down  into  the  soft 
cushions. 

"Honestly,  Ann,  do  you  mean  positively 
that  you  don't  want  me — now?"  he  asked  me 
as  he  sent  the  car  whirling  into  the  sun  set- 
ting over  Old  Harpeth. 

"Not — now,"  I  answered  bravely,  though 
I  nestled  a  little  closer  to  him.  He  seemed 
so  good  and  strong  and — certain. 

"All  right  then,  I  '11  take  the  next  best 

102 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

and  I  '11  come  in  to  your  farm  circle  as  part- 
ner or  competitor  or  any  old  thing  that  keeps 
me  in  your  aura.  I  '11  grow  chickens  with 
the  Corn-tassels  or — here  we  turn  back  for  I 
want  to  get  out  again  over  that  bit  of  moun- 
tain-path that  leads  to  your  citadel  before 
twilight." 

"Put  me  out  at  the  gate,  Matt.  I  want  to 
walk  up,"  I  said,  and  held  to  it  against  his 
protest.  I  finally  made  him  see  that  I  really 
was  not  equal  to  another  "rocking"  over  the 
road,  and  I  stood  and  watched  him  drive  the 
huge  car  away  from  me  down  the  River  field 
ribbon. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  love  him  and  just  don't 
know  it,"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  stood  at  the 
big  gate  and  watched  him  going  away  from 
me  into  life  as  I  had  known  it  since  birth 
until  twenty-four  hours  past.  And  from 
that  vision  of  my  past  I  turned  in  the  sunset 
light  of  the  present  and  began  to  walk 
slowly  up  the  long  avenue  into  my  future. 
"I  've  never  known  anything  but  dancing  and 
motoring  and  being  happy,  and  how  could 

103 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

that  teach  any  woman  what  love  is?"  I 
queried  as  I  stopped  and  picked  up  a  small 
yellow  flower  out  of  a  nest  of  green  leaves 
that  some  sort  of  ancestral  influence  must 
have  introduced  to  me  as  dandelion,  for  I 
had  never  really  met  one  before.  I  felt  a 
pale  reflection  of  the  glow  I  had  experienced 
when  I  took  the  two  warm  pearls  in  my 
hands  in  the  morning. 

Then  suddenly  something  happened  that 
thrilled  me  first  with  interest  and  then  with 
— I  don't  know  what  to  call  it,  but  it  was 
not  fear.  A  fierce  little  wind,  that  was 
earthy  and  sweet,  but  strong,  ruffled  across 
my  path  and  up  into  the  tops  of  the  elms,  and 
with  a  bit  of  fury  tore  down  an  old  bird's- 
nest  and  flung  it  at  my  feet.  It  was  soft  and 
downy  with  bits  of  fur  and  hair  and  wool 
inside,  but  it  was  all  rent  in  two. 

"I  wonder  if  I  can  hold  my  Elmnest 
steady  on  the  limb  when — "  I  was  saying  to 
myself  unsteadily,  with  a  mist  in  my  eyes  for 
the  small  wrecked  home,  when  from  some- 
where over  my  left  shoulder  there  came 

104 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Pan's  reedy  call,  and  it  ended  with  the  two 
Delilah  notes  that  I  had  thought  I  heard  in 
the  early  morning.  It  was  with  no  will  of 
my  own  that  I  answered  with  that  coo  which 
I  had  heard  Mr.  G.  Bird  singing  on  the 
stage  of  the  Metropolitan  in  my  dawn 
dream.  Also  I  crashed  rapidly  through  the 
bushes  in  the  direction  of  the  call  that  this 
time  came  imperatively  and  without  the  coo. 

"To  your  left  and  then  straight  toward  the 
oak-tree,"  came  human  words  from  Pan  in 
quick  command  and  direction.  "Hurry!" 

With  a  last  struggle  with  the  briars  I 
broke  out  into  a  small  open  space  under  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  old  oak  and  upon 
a  scene  of  tragedy,  that  is,  it  was  almost 
tragedy,  for  the  poor  old  sheep  was  lying 
flat  with  pathetic  inertia  while  Adam  stood 
over  her  with  something  in  his  arms. 

"It 's  the  fine  Southdown  ewe  I  persuaded 
Rufus  to  trade  for  one  of  the  precious  hogs," 
he  said,  with  not  so  much  as  a  word  of  greet- 
ing or  interest  personal  to  me  in  his  voice  or 
glance,  but  with  such  wonderful  tenderness 

105 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

that  I  came  close  to  him  because  I  could  n't 
resist  it.  "She  dropped  twin  lambs  last 
night  and  she  is  down  with  exhaustion. 
They  are  getting  cold,  and  I  want  to  take 
her  right  up  to  the  barn  where  I  can  bed  her 
on  hay  and  get  something  hot  into  all  three. 
Can  you  cuddle  the  lambs  and  carry  them 
while  I  shoulder  her?"  As  he  spoke  he  held 
out  his  armful  to  me  without  wounding  me 
by  waiting  for  my  consent. 

"Oh,  the  poor,  cold  babies!"  I  exclaimed, 
as  I  lifted  the  skirt  of  my  long,  fashionable, 
heavy  linen  smock  and  wrapped  them  in  it 
and  my  arms,  close  against  my  warm  solar 
plexus,  which  glowed  at  their  soft  huddling. 
One  tiny  thing  reached  out  a  little  red 
tongue  and  feebly  licked  my  bare  wrist,  and 
I  returned  the  caress  of  introduction  with  a 
kiss  on  its  little  snowy,  woolly  head. 

"You  Ve  the  lovesome  hand  with  the 
beasties,"  said  Pan  as  he  smiled  down  on  the 
lambs-  and  me. 

"I  like  'em  because  they  make  me  sorter 
grow  inside  some  place,  I  don't  know  exactly 

106 


A  poor  old  sheep  was  lying  flat  with  pathetic  inertia  while  Adam  stood  over  her  with 
something  in  his  arms 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

where,"  I  answered  as  I  adjusted  my  woolly 
burden  for  what  I  knew  would  seem  a  long 
march.  "I  '11  get  'em  to  the  barn  all  right," 
I  assured  their  first  friend,  who  was  now 
bending  over  the  poor  mother.  "This  is 
what  I  took  Russian  ballet  dancing  and 
played  golf  for,  only  I  did  n't  know  it." 

"You  'd  have  executed  more  Baskt  twists 
and  done  more  holes  a  day  if  you  had 
known,"  said  Adam,  with  beautiful  un- 
bounded faith  in  me,  as  he  braced  his  legs 
far  apart  and  lifted  the  limp  mother  sheep 
up  across  his  back  and  shoulder.  It  seemed 
positively  weird  to  be  standing  there  acting 
a  scene  out  of  Genesis  and  mentioning 
Baskt,  and  I  was  about  to  say  so  when  Pan 
started  on  ahead  through  the  bushes  and 
commanded  me  briefly  to:  "Come  on!" 

At  his  heels  I  toiled  along  with  the  sheep 
babies  hugged  close  to  my  breast  until  at  last 
we  deposited  all  three  on  a  bed  of  fragrant 
hay  in  a  corner  of  the  barn. 

"What  '11  I  feed  'em?"  I  questioned  anx- 
iously. "There  isn't  a  bit  of  any  kind  of 

107 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

food  on  this  place  but  the  ribs  of  a  hog  and  a 
muffin  and  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"We  '11  give  her  a  quart  of  hot  water  with 
a  few  drops  of  this  heart  stimulant  I  have 
in  my  pocket,  and  she  '11  do  the  rest  for  the 
family  as  soon  as  she  warms  up.  She  's  got 
plenty  of  milk  and  needs  to  have  it  drawn 
badly.  There  you  are — go  to  it,  youngsters. 
She  is  revived  by  just  being  out  of  the  wind 
and  in  the  warmth,  and  I  don't  believe  she 
needs  any  medicine.  She  would  n't  let  them 
to  her  udder  if  she  was  n't  all  right.  NOAV 
we  can  leave  them  alone  for  a  time,  and  I  '11 
give  her  a  warm  mash  in  a  little  while."  As 
he  spoke  Adam  calmly  walked  away  from 
the  interesting  small  family,  which  was  just 
beginning  a  repast  with  great  vigor,  and 
paused  at  the  feed-room  door.  With  more 
pride  than  I  had  ever  felt  when  entering  a 
ball-room  with  a  Voudaine  gown  upon  me 
and  a  bunch  of  orchids,  I  followed  and  stood 
at  his  side. 

"Well,  how  do  you  do,  sweeties,  and  where 
did  you  get  this  model  hen-house?  Trap 

108 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

nests !  I  would  n't  have  believed  it  of  you  I" 
said  Adam  to  the  Leghorn  family  and  me 
inclusive. 

"I  did  n't  do  it  all,"  I  faltered  as  I  expe- 
rienced a  terrific  temptation  to  lie  silently 
and  claim  all  of  the  affectionate  praise  that 
was  beaming  from  Pan's  eyes  upon  all  of  us, 
but  I  fought  and  conquered  it  with  nobility. 
"Matthew  Berry  came  out  and  did  about — 
no,  a  little  more  than  half  of  it.  But  I  did 
all  I  could,"  I  added,  with  a  pathetic  appeal 
for  his  approbation. 

"Well,  half  of  the  job  is  more  than  the 
world  could  expect  of  the  beautiful  Ann 
Craddock,  who  sits  in  the  front  of  Gale 
Beacon's  box  at  the  Metropolitan,"  an- 
swered Pan,  with  a  little  flute  of  laughter  in 
his  voice  that  matched  the  crimson  crests 
which  stood  more  rampant  than  ever  across 
the  tips  of  his  ears. 

"Why,  where — who  are  you  and — "  I 
asked  in  astonishment  as  I  followed  him*into 
the  last  of  the  sunset  glow  coming  across 
the  front  of  the  barn. 

109 


CHAPTER  VI 

;'T  'M  just  Adam  and  I  go  many  places," 
A  he  answered  with  more  of  the  intoxicat- 
ing crooning  laughter. 

"Rufus  says  that  red-headed  Peckerwoods 
go  to  the  devil  on  Fridays,"  I  retorted  to  the 
raillery  of  the  Pan  laugh. 

"It  was  Friday  and  she  did  n't  sing  Deli- 
lah to  my  notion.  Did  she  to  yours?"  he 
asked,  this  time  with  a  smile  that  was  even 
more  interesting  than  the  laugh.  "Come 
over  and  sit  with  me  by  the  spring-house  and 
let 's  discuss  grand  opera  while  I  eat  my 
supper  and  wait  until  I  think  it  is  safe  to 
give  the  ewe  some  mash. 

"I  will  if  you  '11  invite  me  to  the  supper; 
I  can't  face  another  swine  and  muffin  meal," 
I  answered  as  I  followed  him  down  a  path 
that  led  west  from  the  barn-door. 

"I  Ve  got  two  apples  and  a  double  hand- 
no 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ful  of  black  walnut  kernels.  The  drinks 
from  the  spring  are  on  you,"  he  answered  as 
he  led  me  down  through  a  thicket  of  slim 
trees  that  were  sending  out  a  queer  fragrance 
to  a  huge  old  stone  spring-house  from  which 
gushed  a  stream  of  water.  "Just  these  two 
spring  days  are  bringing  out  the  locust  buds 
almost  before  time.  Smell  'em!"  he  said  as 
he  looked  up  into  the  tops  of  the  slim  trees, 
which  were  showing  a  pink-green  tinge  of 
color  in  the  red  sunset  rays. 

"Oh,"  I  said  softly  as  I  clasped  my  hands 
to  my  breast  and  breathed  in  deep,  "I  'm 
glad,  glad  I  did  n't  have  to  let  them  sell  it. 
I  love  it.  I  love  it!" 

"Sell  it?"  asked  Adam  as  he  brushed  a 
rug  of  dry  leaves  from  under  the  bushes 
upon  one  of  the  huge  slabs  of  rock  before 
the  door  of  the  spring-house  for  me  to  sit 
on,  and  took  two  apples  from  his  pocket. 

"Yes,  and  I  '11  work  both  my  fingers  and 

toes  to  the  bone  before  I  '11  give  it  up,"  I 

answered  as  I  crouched  down  beside  him  on 

the  leaves  and  began  to  munch  at  the  apple, 

ill 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

which  he  had  polished  on  the  sleeve  of  his 
soft,  gray,  flannel  shirt  before  he  handed  it 
tome. 

While  we  dined  on  the  two  red  apples,  the 
tangy  nuts,  and  a  few  hard  crackers  that,  I 
think,  were  dog-biscuits,  I  told  him  all  about 
it,  up  to  my  defiance  and  assumption  of  the 
management  of  Elmnest  in  the  library  after 
dinner. 

"I  can  keep  us  from  starving  until  I  learn 
chickens,  can't  I?"  I  asked  after  the  recital, 
and  I  crouched  a  little  closer  to  him  on 
the  rock,  for  black  shadows  were  coming  in 
between  the  trees  and  into  my  conscious- 
ness, and  all  the  pink  moonlight  had  faded 
as  a  rosy  dream,  leaving  the  world  about  us 
silver  gray. 

"I  wonder  just  how  much  genuine  land 
passion  there  is  in  the  hearts  of  women?" 
said  Adam,  softly  answering  my  question 
with  another.  "The  duration  of  race  life 
depends  upon  it  really." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
but  I  understand  you,"  I  answered  him 
112 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

hotly.  "Also  I  know  that  I  love  that  old 
sheep  more  than  you  do,  and  I  'm  going  to 
get  in  line  with  my  egg-basket  when  the 
United  States  begins  mustering  in  forces  to 
fight,  no  matter  what  it  is  to  be.  I  wish  I 
could  say  it  like  I  feel  it  to  that  Mr.  Secre- 
tary Evan  Baldwin,  who  forgets  that  women 
are  the  natural — the  nutritive  sex." 

"I  wish  you  could,"  said  kind  Adam,  with 
one  of  Pan's  railing  laughs. 

"Don't  laugh  at  me — I  'm  getting  born 
all  over,  and  it  is  hard,"  I  said  with  a  sob 
in  my  throat. 

"Forgive  me !  I  'm  not  really  laughing — 
it 's  just  a  form — form  of  the  Peckerwood's 
nature-worship,"  he  answered  a<s  he  took 
my  hand  in  his  warm  one  for  a  second* 
"Let 's  go  finish  up  with  old  sheep  mother/' 
he  added  as  he  began  to  pad  swiftly  away 
up  the  path,  drawing  me  after  him. 

"Yes,  I  am  growing  inside,"  I  assured  my- 
self as  I  for  the  second  night  fell  asleep  on 
the  soft  bosom  of  my  family  tradition  of  four 
posts. 

113 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

One  of  the  most  bromidic  performances 
that  human  beings  indulge  in  anywhere 
from  their  thirty-fifth  to  eightieth  years  is  to 
sigh,  look  wise,  and  make  this  remark:  "If 
I  could  only  begin  life  over  again,  knowing 
what  I  do  now!" 

I  'm  never  going  to  be  impressed  by  that 
again,  and  I  'm  going  to  answer  straight  out 
from  the  shoulder,  "Well,  it  would  be  a  great 
strain  to  you  if  you  found  yourself  doing  it." 

That  was  about  what  my  entry  into  life  at 
Elmnest,  Riverfield,  Harpeth,  was,  and  in 
many  places  it  rubbed  and  hurt  my  pride; 
in  many  places  at  many  times  it  sapped  my 
courage ;  in  many  ways  it  pruned  and  probed 
into  my  innermost  being  with  a  searching 
knife  to  see  if  I  really  did  have  any  intel- 
ligence or  soul,  and  at  all  times  it  left  me 
with  a  feeling  of  just  having  been  sprouted 
off  the  cosmic.  I  know  what  I  mean,  but  it 
does  n't  sound  as  if  I  did.  This  is  the  way 
most  of  it  happened  to  me  in  my  first  six 
weeks  of  life  in  the  rustic. 

How  did  I  know  that  when  you  cleaned 

114 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

up  a  house  that  had  n't  been  cleaned  up  for 
about  fifteen  years  you  must  wait  for  ten 
days  after  you  came  to  that  realization  for  a 
sunshiny  day,  and  carry  all  the  beds  out  in 
the  yard  before  you  began,  and  that  no  mat- 
ter how  much  awful  dust  and  cobwebs  you 
swept  and  mopped  out  or  how  much  old  fur- 
niture you  polished  until  it  reflected  your 
face,  it  was  all  perfectly  futile  unless  the 
bed-sunning  ceremony  had  been  first  ob- 
served ?  Just  how  were  the  ability  to  speak 
French  in  the  most  exclusive  circles  of 
Parisian  society  and  a  cultivated  knowledge 
of  every  picture-gallery  in  the  world  going 
to  keep  me  from  making  a  blunder  that 
would  put  me  down  in  Mrs.  Pennie  Add- 
cock's  mind  as  a  barbarian? 

"Why,  Mrs.  Tillett  and  me  have  been  get- 
ting ready  all  along  to  come  and  help  you 
beat  and  sun  the  beds  the  first  sunshiny  day 
and  then  turn  to  with  our  buckets  and  mops 
and  brooms.  Now  you  Ve  gone  and  done 
the  wrong  thing  by  all  this  polishing  before 
a  single  bed  had  been  beat  and  aired."  As 

115 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

she  spoke  Mrs.  Addcock  surveyed  my  house, 
upon  which  I  had  spent  every  waking  mo- 
ment of  my  muscular  strength,  assisted  by 
Polly  Corn-tassel  and  sometimes  Bud  of  the 
blue  eyes,  but  not  at  all  by  Rufus,  who  re- 
sented the  cleansing  process  to  such  an  ex- 
tent that  he  wrapped  up  his  jaw  in  a  piece 
of  old  flannel  and  retired  to  the  hay-loft 
when  Bud  and  Polly  and  I  insisted  on  in- 
vading the  horrors  of  his  kitchen. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Addcock,  won't  you 
and  Mrs.  Tillett  please  forgive  me  for  being 
so  ignorant  and  help  me  do  it  to-day?"  I 
pleaded  as  I  picked  up  a  small  Tillett,  who 
was  peeping  soft  wooing  at  me  from  where 
he  balanced  himself  on  uncertain  and  chubby 
legs  against  his  mother's  skirts. 

"Well,  in  this  case  there  is  just  nothing 
else  to  do,  but  turn  to  on  the  beds  now, 
wrong  end  first,  but  next  year  you  '11  know," 
she  answered  me  with  indulgent  compromise 
in  her  voice.  "And  I  guess  we  '11  find  some 
broom  and  mop  work  yet  to  be  done.  Come 

116 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

on,  Mrs.  Tillett.     I  guess  Nancy  can  mind 
the  baby  all  right  while  we  work" 

"Oh,  he  ain't  no  trouble  now  except  he 
wants  to  find  out  all  about  the  world  by 
tasting  of  it.  Don't  let  him  eat  a  worm  or 
sech,  and  he  '11  be  all  right,"  answered  the 
beaming  young  mother  of  the  toddler. 
"And,  Miss  Nancy,  I  was  jest  going  to  tell 
you  that  I  have  got  a  nice  pattern  of  a 
plain  kind  of  work  dress  if  you  would  like  to 
use  it,"  she  added  as  she  pointedly  did  not 
look  at  my  peasant's  smock  that  hung  in 
such  lovely  long  lines  that  I  found  myself 
pausing  much  too  often  before  one  of  the 
mirrors  in  the  big  living-room  to  admire 
them.  Mrs.  Tillett's  utility  costume  was  of 
blue  checked  gingham  and  had  no  lines  at 
all  except  top  and  bottom,  with  a  belt  in 
between.  Both  ladies  wore  huge  gingham 
aprons,  and  I  must  say  that  they  looked  like 
the  utility  branch  of  the  feminine  species 
while  I  may  have  resembled  the  ornamental. 
But  they  were  dear  neighbors,  and  the  Til- 
117 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

lett  baby  and  I  had  a  very  busy  and  happy 
day  with  the  Golden  Bird  and  his  busy 
family  while  the  two  missionaries  did  over 
every  bed  in  Elmnest,  even  invading  the  liv- 
ing-room and  shaking  out  the  cushions  of  the 
old  couch  in  the  very  face  of  one  of  the 
charges  of  Xerxes*  army.  I  put  his  baby- 
kins  in  a  big  feed-basket  in  a  nest  of  hay, 
and  the  two  lamb  twins  came  and  licked  him 
every  now  and  then  by  way  of  welcome  into 
my  barn  nursery.  The  fine  young  sheep 
mother  was  now  in  blooming  health,  and  the 
valuable  progeny  were  growing  by  the  hours, 
most  of  which  they  spent  at  the  maternal 
fount,  opposite  each  other  and  both  small 
tails  going  like  a  new  variety  of  speedometer. 
"I  see  mother  ewe  knows  enough  to  hang 
around  the  lady  of  the  barn  and  feed-bins. 
Those  lambkins  are  two  pounds  heavier  than 
any  born  within  a  week  of  them  at  Plun- 
kett's,"  Pan  had  said  not  a  week  past,  and 
both  sheep  mother  and  I  had  beamed  with 
gratified  pride  at  his  commendation. 

118 


I  put  his  babykins  in  a  big  feed-basket  and  the  lamb  twins  came  and  welcomed  him 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Then  while  the  renovation  of  the  four- 
posters  went  on  with  a  happy  buzz,  I  busied 
myself  in  and  out  and  about  with  the  num- 
berless details  of  care  of  the  Bird  family. 
My  knowledge  of  music  earned  by  many 
long  hours  in  the  practice  of  harmonics  and 
a  delighted  and  diligent  attendance  at  the 
opera  seasons  of  New  York,  Berlin,  and 
Paris,  to  say  nothing  of  Boston  and  London, 
had  not,  in  my  new  life,  in  any  way  aided  me 
to  see  that  I  had  made  a  mistake  in  ordering 
a  three-hundred-egg  incubator  to  start 
building  a  prize  flock  with  Mr.  Golden  Bird 
and  the  ten  Ladies  Leghorn,  but  in  this  case 
Adam  had  guided  me  from  off  that  shoal, 
and  by  telegram  I  had  changed  the  order  for 
three  fifty-egg  improved  metal  mothers  and 
the  implements  needed  in  accomplishing 
their  maternal  purpose.  In  one  of  them 
were  now  fifty  beautiful  white  pearls  that  I 
could  not  refrain  from  visiting  and  regard- 
ing through  the  little  window  in  the  metallic 
side  of  the  metallic  mother  at  least  several 

119 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

times  an  hour,  though  I  knew  that  twice  a 
day  to  regulate  the  heat  and  fill  the  lamp  was 
sufficient. 

"I  don't  believe  I  '11  be  able  to  stand  seeing 
them  hop  out,"  I  remarked  to  Baby  Tillett, 
the  lambkins,  and  the  good  old  red  ally,  who 
was  patiently  seated  on  a  box  over  fifteen  of 
the  pearls.  Adam  had  kept  the  poor  old 
darling  covering  some  white  china  eggs  for 
nearly  two  weeks  before  he  gave  her  the 
pearls  on  the  same  day  we  put  the  forty-five 
in  the  interior  of  her  metal  rival.  I  did  n't 
at  first  understand  his  sinister  purpose  in 
thus  holding  her  back  until  the  metal  rival 
could  get  an  even  start,  but  I  did  later. 

"I  hope  you  have  a  mighty  good  hatching, 
Nancy,  but  I  have  no  faith  in  half-way  meas- 
ures, and  a  tin  box  is  a  half-way  measure  for 
a  hen,  just  as  cleaning  house  without  bed- 
sunning  is  trifling,"  said  Mrs.  Addcock,  with 
a  final  prod  as  she  came  out  to  the  barn  with 
Mrs.  Tillett  to  reclaim  Baby  Tillett. 

"You  ain't  married,  Miss  Nancy,  and  you 
won't  understand  how  babies  need  mothers, 

120 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

even  the  chicken  kind,"  said  Mrs.  Tillett,  as 
she  cuddled  Baby  Tillett  gurglingly  against 
her  shoulder  and  followed  in  the  wake  of 
Mrs.  Addcock  with  the  mops  and  buckets 
down  the  walk  and  around  the  house. 

I  stood  beside  the  tin  triumph  of  science, 
with  my  baby  lambs  licking  at  my  hands, 
while  Mrs.  Ewe  nuzzled  for  corn  in  one  of 
my  huge  pockets,  and  a  baby  collie,  which 
Pan  had  brought  the  week  before,  when  her 
eyes  were  scarcely  open,  tumbled  about  my 
feet,  and  looked  after  the  retreating  women 
— and  I  did  understand. 

"Still,  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can  by  your— 
your  progeny,  Mr.  G.  Bird,"  I  said  as  the 
great  big,  white  old  fellow  came  and  pecked 
in  my  pocket  for  corn  in  perfect  friendliness 
with  Mrs.  Ewe. 

I  was  called  upon  to  keep  my  promise  in 
less  than  a  week.  It  might  have  been  a 
tragedy  if  Bess  Rutherford's  practical  sense 
had  not  helped  save  my  affections  from  a 
panic.  This  is  how  it  happened. 

"Yes,    chicken   culture    is   a   germ   that 

121 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

spreads  by  contagion.  I  'm  not  at  all  sur- 
prised at  your  friends,"  Adam  had  answered 
when  I  had  appealed  to  him  to  know  if  I 
could  sell  Bess  Rutherford  just  six  of  the 
baby  chicks,  when  they  came  out,  for  her  to 
begin  a  brood  in  a  new  back-yard  system,  only 
Bess  is  so  progressive  that  she  is  having  a 
nice  big  place  in  the  conservatory  that  opens 
out  of  her  living-room  cleared  for  them  to 
run  about  out  of  their  tin  mother  when  they 
want  to.  She  says  she  believes  eternal  vigi- 
lance is  the  price  of  success  with  poultry  as 
the  book  she  bought,  which  is  different  from 
mine,  says,  and  Bess  decided  that  she  wanted 
her  chickens  where  she  could  go  in  to  see 
them  comfortably  when  she  came  from  par- 
ties and  things  without  having  to  go  around 
in  the  back  yard,  which  is  the  most  lovely 
garden  in  Hayesville  anyway,  in  her  slip- 
pers and  party  clothes.  "I  'd  sell  her  the 
chicks  at  twenty  dollars  apiece,  and  that 's 
cheap  if  they  produce  as  they  ought  to  with 
their  blood  and  such — such  care  as  she  intends 
to  bestow  on  them.  The  twenty-dollar  price 

122 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

will  either  cure  her  or  start  an  idle  woman 
into  a  producer,"  said  Adam,  in  answer  to 
my  request,  as  he  cut  me  out  a  pair  of  shoes 
from  a  piece  of  hide  like  that  which  the  shoes 
upon  his  own  feet  were  made  from.  It  was 
raining,  and  I  sat  at  his  feet  in  the  barn  and 
laboriously  sewed  what  he  had  cut. 

I  told  Bess  what  Adam  said,  and  she  paid 
me  the  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  right  on 
the  spot,  and  then  insisted  on  opening  the 
incubator  at  the  regular  time  for  the  ten 
minutes  the  book  directs,  to  cool  off  the  eggs 
night  and  morning,  and  putting  her  mono- 
gram on  six  of  the  eggs.  To  do  this  she 
decided  to  stay  all  night,  and  telephoned 
her  maid,  Annette,  to  pack  her  bag  and  let 
Matthew  bring  it  out  to  her  when  he  came 
to  help  Polly  Corn-tassel  put  their  first  batch 
of  eggs  into  their  incubator.  Matthew  had 
bought  twenty  hens  and  two  nice  brotherly 
roosters,  and  they  had  almost  caught  up 
with  me  in  the  number  of  their  brown  babies 
on  the  whole  shells.  Matthew  had  been 
coming  out  night  and  morning  ever  since  he 

123 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

had  brought  out  his  and  the  Beesleys'  poul- 
try and  had  either  had  supper  with  us  at 
Elmnest  or  we  had  both  got  riz  biscuits  and 
peach  preserves  and  chicken  fried  with  Aunt 
Mary  and  Uncle  Silas  and  Polly  and  Bud. 
I  had  subjugated  Rufus  into  cooking  a  few 
canned  things,  for  which  I  had  traded  one 
of  his  pig  jaws  at  the  bank-post-office-gro- 
cery emporium,  and  Uncle  Silas  had  thrown 
in  a  few  potatoes,  and  Adam  had  brought 
me  a  great  bag  of  white  beans  from  across 
Paradise  Ridge,  so  the  diet  at  Elmnest  had 
changed  slightly.  The  absorbed  twins  had 
never  noticed  it  at  all;  only  they  displayed 
more  hearty  vigor  in  attacking  the  problems 
of  literature  and  history  that  absorbed  them. 
Also  almost  every  day  Pan  brought  me 
young  green  things  that  were  sprouting  in 
the  woods,  and  I  cooked  them  for  him  in  an 
old  iron  pot  down  by  the  spring-house  and 
had  supper  with  him. 

"Those  two  dears  are  the  most  precious 
old  Rips  I  ever  beheld,"  said  Bess  when  we 
had  retired  to  my  room  after  supper  on  the 

124 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

fateful  night  of  our  near  tragedy.  "You 
are  so  fortunate,  Ann,  to  have  two  delicious 
fathers  in  name  only.  Mine  pokes  into  my 
business  at  all  angles  and  insists  on  so  much 
attention  from  me  that  I  don't  know  how 
I  '11  amount  to  anything  in  this  world.  He 
says  it  takes  a  very  fine  and  brainy  woman 
to  earn  about  ten  thousand  dollars  a  year 
being  affectionate  and  agreeable  to  her  own 
father,  and  that  I  get  so  much  because  there 
is  no  possible  competition  as  I  am  an  only 
child,  but  all  the  same  it  looks  like  unearned 
money  to  me.  Just  wait  until  those  six  little 
chickens  begin  to  earn  me  a  hundred  dollars 
a  month  like  my  book  guarantees  they  will 
do  in  their  second  year ;  then  I  'm  going  to 
show  dad  just  how  much  I  love  him  for  him- 
self and  give  him  back  my  bank-book." 

"Still  it  is  an  awful  lot  of  work,  Bess,"  I 
remonstrated  feebly,  because  I  knew  that  I 
could  n't  have  made  myself  believe  all  I  had 
learned  in  just  two  months  at  Elmnest  the 
day  I  started  in  business. 

"You  know,  Ann,  I  told  you  about  that 

125 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

wonderful  Evan  Baldwin  who  has  been  in 
Hayesville  two  or  three  times  this  winter, 
the  man  to  whom  the  governor  gave  the  port- 
folio of  agriculture,  I  believe  they  call  it. 
Well,  he  was  at  the  Old  Hickory  ball  the 
other  night  when  you  would  n't  come,  and  I 
told  him  all  about  you  and  about  buying 
those  little  chickens  from  you,  and  he  was  so 
wonderful  and  sympathetic  that  Owen  Mur- 
ray sulked  dreadfully.  He  encouraged  me 
entirely  and  told  me  a  lot  of  things  about 
some  of  his  experiment  stations  in  all  the 
different  States.  You  thought  you  were 
going  to  stagger  me  with  that  twenty-dollar 
price  on  those  chicks  in  shell,  but  he  said  he 
had  paid  as  much  as  five  hundred  dollars 
apiece  for  a  few  eggs  he  got  from  some  prize 
chickens  in  England  and  had  brought  them 
over  in  a  basket  in  his  own  hand.  He  said 
he  thought  from  what  I  told  him  about  the 
Golden  Bird  that  twenty  would  be  about 
right  for  one  of  his  sons  or  daughters.  Ann, 
he  is  a  perfectly  delicious  man,  and  you 
must  meet  him.  It  is  awful  the  way  all  the 

126 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

girls  and  women  just  follow  him  in  droves, 
though  I  'm  sure  he  does  n't  seem  to  notice 
us." 

"I  never  want  to  lay  eyes  on  him,  Bess. 
He  has  insulted  me  and  I  never — "  but  just 
here  a  thought  struck  me  in  my  solar  plexus 
and  crinkled  me  entirely  up.  "Oh,  Bess,  I 
forgot  to  fill  the  lamp  in  the  incubator  to- 
night, and  I  believe  the  chicken  eggs  will  be 
all  chilled  to  death.  What  will  I  do?  It  is 
near  midnight  and  it 's — it 's — c — cold." 

"Let 's  get  'em  quick  and  maybe  we  can 
resuscitate  'em.  Don't  you  remember  about 
reviving  frozen  people  in  that  first-aid  class 
we  had  just  after  the  war  broke  out  and  we 
did  n't  know  whether  we  were  in  it  or  not? 
Come  on,  quick!"  Bess  seized  the  quilt 
from  the  bed  and  descended  into  the  back 
yard,  clad  only  in  her  lingerie  for  sleeping,  a 
silk  robe-de-chambre  and  satin  mules,  while 
I  followed,  likewise  garmented. 

"Oh,  dear,  how  cold,"  wailed  Bess  as  the 
frosty  Spring  air  poured  around  us  in  our 
flight  to  the  barn. 

127 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Put  the  quilt  around  you,"  I  chattered. 

"I  'm  going  to  put  all  the  egg  chickens  in 
it,"  she  answered  as  we  scuttled  into  the  barn 
out  of  the  wind. 

"The  lamp  is  out,  but  the  eggs  still  feel 
warm  to  the  hand,"  I  said  as  I  knelt  in  deep 
contrition  beside  the  metal  hen. 

"Fill  it  and  light  it,  and  they  '11  soon  warm 
up,"  advised  Bess. 

"There  's  no  oil  on  the  place.  I  forgot 
it,"  I  again  wailed. 

"Isn't  there  room  under  the  hen  here?" 
asked  Bess,  with  the  brilliant  mind  she  in- 
herited from  Mr.  Rutherford  running  over 
the  speed  limit,  and  as  she  spoke  she  felt 
under  the  old  Red  Ally,  who  only  clucked 
good  naturedly. 

"It  feels  like  she  is  covering  a  hundred 
now,  and  there  's  no  room  for  more,"  said 
Bess,  answering  herself  with  almost  a  wail 
in  her  voice.  "What  will  we  do  ?  The  book 
says  April-hatched  chickens  are  the  best,  and 
these  would  have  come  out  in  just  a  few 
days." 

128 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

And  then  from  somewhere  in  my  heart, 
which  had  harbored  the  cuddle  of  the  cold 
lamb  babies  against  it,  there  rose  a  knowl- 
edge of  first  aid  for  the  near-baby  chickens." 

"Oh,  Bess,"  I  exclaimed,  "let 's  wrap  the 
tray  of  eggs  up  in  the  quilt  and  take  it  up- 
stairs to  bed  with  us.  We  are  just  as  warm 
as  the  hen,  and  I  '11  get  Rufus  to  go  for  Polly 
at  daylight  to  fix  the  lamp  while  we  stay  in 
bed  and  huddle  them  until  the  incubator 
warms  up,  as  it  does  in  just  an  hour  after 
it 's  lighted." 

"Ann,  you  are  both  maternal  and  intel- 
lectual," said  Bess,  with  the  deepest  admira- 
tion in  her  voice.  "Let 's  hurry  or  we  '11 
never  get  warmed  up  ourselves." 

And  in  very  much  less  time  than  could  be 
imagined  Bess  Rutherford  and  I  were  in 
the  middle  of  the  four-poster,  sunk  deep  into 
the  feathers  with  the  precious  pearls  of  life 
carefully  imbedded  between  us. 

"Now  don't  joggle,"  Bess  commanded  as 
we  got  all  settled  and  tucked  in. 

"Mrs.  Tillett  lets  little  Tillett  sleep  with 

129 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

her   cold   nights,"    I   murmured   drowsily. 

"I  don't  believe  it;  no  woman  would  un- 
dertake the  responsibility  of  human  life  like 
that,"  Bess  answered  as  she  tucked  in  a  loose 
end  of  cover  under  the  pillow. 

"Most  of  the  world  mothers  sleep  with 
their  babies,"  Adam  said  when  I  told  him 
about  little  Tillett,  "and—"  I  was  answer- 
ing when  I  trailed  off  into  a  dream  of  walk- 
ing a  tight  rope  over  a  million  white  eggs. 
In  the  morning  Bess  said  she  had  dreamed 
that  she  was  a  steam  roller  trying  to  make  a 
road  of  eggs  smooth  enough  to  run  her  car 
over. 


ISO 


CHAPTER  VII 

ALSO  Bess  and  I  woke  to  find  ourselves 
heroines.  Matthew  came  to  break- 
fast after  he  had  seen  the  lamps  in  his  mock 
hens  burning  brightly,  and  brought  Polly 
with  him  to  congratulate  us  on  the  rescue 
of  our  infant  industry.  Polly  had  told  him 
of  our  brilliant  coup  against  old  Jack  Frost, 
and  he  was  all  enthusiasm,  as  was  also  Uncle 
Cradd,  while  father  beamed  because  he  was 
hearing  me  praised  and  thought  of  some- 
thing else  at  the  same  time.  Later  Owen 
Murray  came  out  for  Bess  in  his  car,  and 
insisted  on  buying  six  more  of  the  eggs, 
because,  he  said,  they  had  now  become  a 
sporting  proposition  and  interested  him. 
Bess  agreed  to  board  them  to  maturity  in 
her  conservatory  for  him  at  fifty  cents  a 
day  per  head  and  let  him  visit  them  at  any 
time.  He  gave  me  a  check  immediately. 

131 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

He  offered  to  buy  six  of  Polly's  chicks  at 
the  same  price,  but  Matthew  refused  to  let 
her  sell  them  at  all,  and  also  Bess  refused 
to  have  any  mixing  of  breeds  in  her  con- 
servatory. Polly  didn't  know  enough  to 
resent  losing  the  hundred  and  twenty  dol- 
lars, because  she  had  never  had  more  than 
fifty  cents  in  her  life,  and  Matthew  didn't 
realize  what  it  would  have  meant  to  her  to 
have  that  much  money,  because  he  had 
more  than  he  needed  all  his  life,  so  they 
were  all  happy  and  laughed  through  one  of 
Rufus'  worst  hog  effusions  in  the  way  of  a 
meal  for  lunchers,  but — but  I  had  in  a 
month  learned  to  understand  what  a  dollar 
might  mean  to  a  man  or  woman,  and  at  the 
thought  of  that  two  hundred  and  forty  dol- 
lars Mr.  G.  Bird  and  family  had  earned 
for  me  in  their  second  month  of  my  owner- 
ship my  courage  arose  and  girded  up  its 
loins  for  the  long  road  ahead.  I  knew 
enough  to  know  that  these  returns  were  a 
kind  of  isolated  nugget  in  the  poultry  busi- 
ness, and  yet  why  not? 

132 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"We'll  sell  Mr.  Evan  Baldwin  a  five- 
hundred-dollar  gold  egg  yet,  Mr.  G.  Bird," 
I  said  to  myself. 

After  luncheon  they  all  departed  and  left 
me  to  my  afternoon's  work.  Matthew  lin- 
gered behind  the  others  and  helped  me  feed 
the  old  red  ally  and  Mrs.  Ewe  and  Pecker- 
wood  Pup. 

"  I  was  talking  to  Evan  Baldwin  at  the 
club  after  his  first  lecture  the  other  night 
and,  Ann,  I  believe  I  '11  be  recruited  for  the 
plow  as  well  as  for  the  machine-gun.  I  'm 
going  to  buy  some  land  out  there  back  of 
the  Beesleys'  and  raise  sheep  on  it.  He 
says  Harpeth  is  losing  millions  a  year  by 
not  raising  sheep.  I  'm  going  to  live  at 
Riverfield  a  lot  of  the  time  and  motor  back 
and  forth  to  business.  Truly,  Ann,  the  land 
bug  has  bit  me  and — and  it  is  n't  just — just 
to  come  up  on  your  blind  side.  But,  dear, 
now  don't  you  think  that  it  would  be  nice 
for  me  to  live  over  here  with  you  as  a  per- 
fectly sympathetic  agricultural  husband?" 

"I  needed  a  husband  so  much  more  yester- 

133 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

day  to  help  with  the  pruning  of  the  rose- 
vines  than  I  do  to-day,  Matthew,"  I  an- 
swered with  a  laugh.  Matthew's  proposals 
of  marriage  are  so  regular  and  so  alike  that 
I  have  to  avoid  monotony  in  the  wit  of  my 
answers. 

"I  'm  never  in  time  to  do  a  single  thing  on 
this  place,  and  I  don't  see  how  everything 
gets  done  for  you  without  my  help.  Who 
helps  you?" 

"Everybody,"  I  answered.  I  had  never 
had  the  courage  to  break  Adam  to  Matthew 
in  the  long  weeks  I  had  been  seeing  them 
both  every  day,  and  of  course  Pan  had  never 
come  out  of  the  woods  when  Matthew  or 
any  of  the  rest  were  there.  "I  '11  tell  you 
what  you  can  do  for  me,"  I  said,  with  a  sud- 
den inspiration  about  getting  rid  of  him,  for 
the  red-headed  Peckerwood  had  promised  to 
come  and  put  some  kind  of  hoodoo  earth 
around  the  peonies  and  irises  and  pinks  in 
my  garden,  also  to  bud  some  kind  of  a  new 
rose  on  one  of  the  old  blush  ones,  and  I 

134 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

wanted  the  place  quiet  so  he  would  venture 
out  of  his  lair.  "You  can  go  on  to  town  and 
look  after  Polly  carefully.  She  is  going  in 
with  Bess  for  the  first  time  since  their  in- 
fatuation, and  I  want  her  eyes  to  open 
gradually  on  the  world  out  over  Paradise 
Ridge." 

"Ann,  ought  they  ever  to  open?"  asked 
Matthew,  suddenly,  with  the  color  coming 
up  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  and  burning  in  his 
ears  like  it  still  does  in  Bud  Corn-tassel's 
when  he  comes  over  to  see  or  help  me  or  to 
bring  me  something  from  Aunt  Mary,  his 
mother.  "Bess  is  one  of  the  best  of  friends 
I  've  got  in  the  world,  but  I  just — just 
could  n't  see  Corn-tassel  dancing  in  some 
man's  arms  in  the  mere  hint  of  an  evening 
gown  that  Bess  occupied  while  fox- trotting 
with  Evan  Baldwin  at  the  club  the  other 
night." 

"Who  was  the  belle  of  the  ball,  Matt?"  I 
asked  him,  with  a  flame  in  my  cheeks,  for  the 
pink  and  lavender  chiffon  gown  Bess  had 

135 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

worn  was  one  of  the  Voudaine  creations  that 
I  had  brought  from  Paris  and  sold  her  after 
the  crash. 

"Oh,  Bess  always  is  when  you  are  not 
there  and,  Ann,  don't  for  a  moment  think 
that  I — I — "  Poor  Matthew  was  stutter- 
ing while  I  rubbed  the  tip  of  my  nose  against 
his  sleeve  in  the  way  of  a  caress,  as  I  had  a 
feed-bucket  in  one  hand  and  a  water-pan  in 
the  other. 

"Do  go  and  shop  with  Polly  and  Bess  as  a 
force  for  protection.  I  must  have  a  quiet 
afternoon  to  commune  with  my  garden,"  I 
commanded. 

"Sometimes  you  make  me  so  mad,  Ann 
Craddock,  that — that — "  Matthew  was 
stuttering  when  Uncle  Cradd  appeared  at 
the  back  door  to  chat  with  him,  and  I  made 
my  escape  through  the  barn  and  out  into  the 
woods.  I  had  thought  that  I  saw  a  glint  of 
Peckerwood  red  pass  through  the  pasture 
that  way,  and  I  was  determined  that  Pan 
should  n't  give  me  and  the  garden  the  slip  as 
he  always  did  when  he  saw  anybody  around. 

136 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

As  I  ran  rapidly  through  the  old  pasture, 
which  was  overgrown  with  buckbushes  and 
sassafras  sprouts,  which  were  turning  into 
great  pink  and  green  fern  clumps  in  the 
warm  April  sunshine,  I  gave  the  two  or 
three  Saint-Saens  Delilah  notes  which  had 
been  robbed  of  any  of  their  wicked  Delilah 
flavor  for  me  by  having  heard  Mr.  G.  Bird 
sing  them  so  beautifully  on  the  stage  of  the 
Metropolitan  in  that  first  dream  night  in 
Elmnest.  But  I  called  and  then  called  in 
vain  until  at  last  I  came  out  to  the  huge  old 
rock  that  juts  out  from  the  edge  of  the 
rugged  little  knoll  at  the  far  end  of  the  pas- 
ture. Here  I  paused  and  looked  down  on 
Elmnest  in  the  afternoon  sunshine  with 
what  seemed  to  be  suddenly  newly  opened 
eyes.  I  had  been  in  and  out  of  Elmnest  to 
such  an  extent  for  the  last  six  weeks  that  I 
had  n't  had  a  chance  to  get  off  and  look  at  it 
from  an  outsider's  standpoint,  and  now  sud- 
denly I  was  taking  that  view  of  it.  The 
old  rose  and  green  brick  house,  covered  in 
by  its  wide,  gray  shingle  roof,  the  gables  and 

137 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

windows  of  which  were  beginning  to  be 
wreathed  in  feathery  and  pink  young  vines, 
which  were  given  darker  notes  here  and 
there  in  their  masses  by  the  sturdy  green  of 
the  honey-suckles,  hovered  down  on  a  small 
plateau  rear-guarded  by  the  barn  and  sheds, 
flanked  by  the  garden  and  the  gnarled  old 
orchard,  and  from  its  front  door  the  long 
avenue  of  elms  led  far  down  to  the  group  of 
Riverfield  houses  that  huddled  at  the  other 
end.  All  villages  in  the  State  of  Harpeth 
have  been  so  built  around  the  old  "great 
houses"  of  the  colonial  landowners,  and  be- 
tween their  generations  has  been  developed 
a  communistic  life  that  I  somehow  feel  is  to 
bridge  from  the  pioneer  life  of  this  country 
to  the  great  new  life  of  the  greater  commune 
that  is  coming  to  us.  Down  there  in  River- 
field  I  knew  that  there  was  sin  and  sorrow 
and  birth  and  death,  but  there  was  no  starva- 
tion, and  for  every  tragedy  there  was  a 
neighbor  to  reach  out  a  helping  hand,  and 
for  every  joy  there  were  hearty  and  friendly 
rejoicings. 

138 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Oh,  and  I  'm  one  of  them— I  belong,"  I 
said  to  myself  as  I  noted  each  cottage  into 
which  I  went  and  came  at  will,  as  friend  and 
beloved  neighbor.  Even  at  that  distance  I 
could  see  a  small  figure,  which  I  knew  to  be 
Luella  Spain,  running  up  the  long  avenue, 
and  in  its.  hand  I  detected  something  that,  I 
was  sure,  was  a  covered  plate  or  dish.  "And 
I  'm  making  Elmnest  fulfil  its  destiny  into 
the  future — into  the  future  that  the  great 
Evan  Baldwin  is  preaching  about  in  town, 
instead  of  practicing  out  in  the  fields.  I 
wonder  if  he  really  knows  a  single  thing 
about  farming." 

"He  does,"  came  an  answer  from  right  at 
my  shoulder  in  Pan's  flutiest  voice,  and  I 
turned  to  find  him  standing  just  behind  me 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  old  tilting  rock. 

"How  do  you  know?"  I  demanded  of  him 
as  I  took  the  clean  white  cloth  tied  up  at 
four  corners,  gypsy-fashion,  which  he  offered 
me  and  which,  I  could  see,  was  fairly  burst- 
ing with  green  leaves  of  a  kind  I  had  never 
seen  before. 

139 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  was  with  him  at  the  Metropolitan  the 
night  I  saw  Ann  Craddock  in  Gale  Beacon's 
box,  you  know, — the  night  that  Mr.  G.  Bird 
sang  'Delilah,'  and  also  I  've  slept  on  the 
bare  ground  with  him  in  his  woods  in  Michi- 
gan and  on  his  red  clay  in  Georgia." 

"Well,  I  hate  him  all  the  same  for  the  in- 
sult of  his  offer  to  buy  Elmnest,  though  I 
doubt  if  he  has  any  family  pride  or  any 
family  either,  so,  of  course,  he  would  n't  un- 
derstand that  it  is  an  insult  to  offer  to  buy 
one's  colonial  home  with  holes  in  the  door  to 
shoot  Indians  through,"  I  answered  with  the 
temper  that  always  came  at  the  mention  of 
the  name  of  a  man  I  had  chosen  to  consider 
a  foe  without  any  consent  on  his  part  at  all. 

"You  'd  think  he  was  born  and  raised  in  a 
hollow  log  if  you  should  ever  interview  him, 
and  he  has  n't  any  family,  but  from  some  of 
the  motions  he  is  making,  I  think  he  intends 
to  have,"  answered  Pan,  with  one  of  his 
most  fluty  jeers,  and  he  shook  his  head  until 
the  crests  ruffled  still  lower  over  the  tips  of 
his  ears. 

140 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Are  you — you  one  of  his  agents — that  is, 
spies,  and  was  it  you  that  insulted  me  by 
wanting  to  buy  Elmnest  just  because  it  was 
poor  and  old?"  I  demanded,  with  the  color 
in  my  cheeks. 

"I  am  not  his  spy  or  his  agent,  and  do  you 
want  to  come  down  to  the  spring-house  and 
cook  these  wild-mustard  shoots  for  our  din- 
ner, or  shall  I  go  at  our  old  garden  with 
the  prospect  of  an  empty  stomach  at  sun- 
set?" 

"Why  won't  you  come  in  to  dinner  with 
me?"  I  asked,  with  a  mollified  laugh,  though 
I  knew  I  was  bringing  down  upon  myself 
about  my  hundredth  refusal  of  proffered 
hospitality. 

"Two  reasons — first,  because  I  won't  eat 
with  my  neighbors  at  the  'great  house* 
when  I  can't  eat  with  them  in  the  cottage, 
and  I  just  can't  eat  the  grease  that  a  lot  of 
the  poorer  villagers  deluge  their  food  with. 
I  'm  Pan,  and  I  live  in  the  woods  on  roots 
and  herbs.  Second — because  about  six 
weeks  ago  I  found  a  farm  woman  who  would 

141 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

come  out  at  my  wooing  to  cook  and  eat  the 
herbs  and  roots  with  me  and  I  could  have  her 
to  myself  all  alone.  Now,  will  you  come  on 
down  to  the  spring?"  And  without  waiting 
for  my  reply,  Adam  started  down  the  hill, 
crosswise  from  the  path  by  which  I  had  as- 
cended, padding  ahead  in  his  weird  leather 
sandals  and  breaking  a  path  for  me  through 
the  undergrowth  as  I  followed  close  at  his 
shoulder,  an  order  of  rough  travel  to  which  I 
had  become  accustomed  vin  the  weeks  that 
had  passed  and  that  now  seemed  to  me — 
well,  I  might  say  racial. 

In  the  riot  of  an  April  growing  day,  in 
which  we  could  hear  life  fairly  teem  and 
buzz  at  our  feet,  on  right,  and  left,  and  over- 
head, Adam  and  I  worked  shoulder  to 
shoulder  in  the  old  garden  of  Elmnest. 
Every  now  and  then  I  ran  down  to  the 
spring  to  put  a  green  fagot  under  the  pot  of 
herbs,  which  needed  to  simmer  for  hours  to 
be  as  delicious  as  was  possible  for  them. 
From  the  library  came  a  rattle  and  bang  of 
literary  musketry  from  the  blessed  parental 

142 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

twins,  who  were  for  the  time  being  with 
Julius  Caesar  in  "all  Gaul,"  and  oblivious  to 
anything  in  the  twentieth  century,  even  a 
spring-intoxicated  niece  and  daughter  down 
in  her  grandmother's  garden  with  a  Pan 
from  the  woods;  occasionally  Rufus  rattled 
a  pot  or  a  pan ;  but  save  for  these  few  echoes 
of  civilization,  Adam  and  I  delved  and 
spaded  and  clipped  and  pruned  and  planted 
in  the  old  garden  just  as  if  it  had  been  the 
plot  of  ground  without  the  walls  of  Eden  in 
which  our  first  parents  were  forced  to  get 
busy. 

"Great  work,  Farmwoman,"  said  Adam 
as  we  sat  down  on  the  side  steps  to  eat,  bite- 
about,  the  huge  red  apple  he  had  taken  from 
the  bundle  of  emigrant  appearance  which 
he  always  carried  over  his  shoulder  on  the 
end  of  a  long  hickory  stick  and  which  I  had 
by  investigation  at  different  times  found  to 
contain  everything  from  clean  linen  to  San- 
skrit poetry  for  father.  To-day  I  found  the 
manuscript  score  of  a  new  opera  by  no  less 
a  person  than  Hurter  himself,  which  he  in- 

143 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

sisted  on  having  me  hum  through  with  him 
while  we  ate  the  apple. 

"I  told  Hurter  I  thought  that  fourth 
movement  would  n't  do,  and  now  I  know  it 
after  hearing  you  try  it  through  an  apple," 
said  Pan  as  he  rose  from  beside  me,  tied  the 
manuscript  up  in  the  bandana  bundle,  and 
picked  up  his  long  pruning-knife.  "Now, 
Woman,  we  '11  put  a  curb  on  the  rambling  of 
every  last  rambler  in  this  garden  and  then 
we  can  lay  out  the  rows  for  Bud  to  plant 
with  the  snap  beans  to-morrow."  Adam, 
from  the  first  day  he  had  met  me,  had  ad- 
dressed me  simply  with  my  generic  class 
name,  and  I  had  found  it  a  good  one  to 
which  to  make  answer.  Also  Adam  had 
shown  me  the  profit  and  beauty  of  planting 
all  needful  vegetables  mixed  up  with  the 
flowers  in  the  rich  and  loamy  old  garden,  and 
had  adjusted  a  cropping  arrangement  be- 
tween the  Corn-tassel  Bud  and  me  that  was 
to  be  profitable  to  us  both,  Bud  only  doing  in 
odd  hours  the  work  I  could  n't  do,  and  get- 
ting a  share  of  the  profits. 

144 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Don't  work  me  to  death  to-day,"  I 
pleaded,  and  told  him  about  the  rescue  of  the 
babies  Bird  with  so  much  dramatic  force 
that  his  laughter  rang  out  with  such  volume 
that  old  Rufus  came  to  the  kitchen  window 
to  look  out  and  shake  his  head,  and  I  knew 
he  was  muttering  about  "Peckerwoods," 
"devils,"  and  the  sixth  day  of  the  week. 
"Will  the  chicks  live  all  right,  do  you 
think?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"They  're  safe  if  they  never  got  cold 
to  the  touch  and  you  did  n't  joggle  'em 
too  much.  Do  either  you  or  Miss  Ruth- 
erford happen  to  er — er — kick  in  your 
sleep?" 

"We  do  not!"  I  answered  with  dignity,  as 
I  snipped  away  a  dead  branch  of  ivy  from 
across  the  path. 

"I  just  thought  Miss  Rutherford  might 
from—" 

"You  don't  know  Bess;  she  's  so  executive 
that—" 

"That  she  wouldn't  kick  eggs  for  any- 
thing," finished  Pan,  mockingly.  "She 

145 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

does  pretty  well  in  the  Russian  ballet, 
does  n't  she?" 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  could  just  see  her  in  the 
'Cloud  Wisp'!"  I  exclaimed,  with  the 
greatest  pride,  for  Bess  Rutherford  has 
nothing  to  envy  Pavlova  about. 

"I  have — er — have  a  great  desire  to  so  be- 
hold her  at  some  future  time,"  answered 
Pan,  with  one  of  his  eery  laughs,  and  I  could 
almost  see  hoofs  through  the  raw  hide  of  his 
shoes.  I  would  have  ruffled  the  red  crests 
off  of  the  tips  of  his  ears  to  see  if  they  really 
were  pointed  if  he  had  not  stood  just  out  of 
reach  of  my  hand,  where  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  catch  him  if  I  tried. 

"You  won't  eat  with  me  in  civilization, 
you  won't  meet  any  of  my  friends,  and  I 
don't  believe  you  ever  want  to  please  me,"  I 
said  as  I  turned  away  from  his  provocation 
and  began  again  with  the  scissors. 

"I  don't  like  world  girls,"  he  said  with  the 
fluty  coo  in  his  voice  that  always  calms  the 
Ladies  Leghorn  when  they  are  ruffled.  "I 
only  love  farm  women.  The  moon  is  begin- 

146 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ning  to  get  a  rise  out  of  the  setting  sun,  and 
let 's  go  away  from  these  haunts  of  men  to 
our  own  woods  home.  Come  along!"  As 
he  spoke  Pan  pocketed  his  long  knife,  picked 
up  his  stick  and  bundle,  and  began  to  pad 
away  through  the  trees  down  towards  the 
spring,  with  me  at  his  shoulder,  and  for  the 
first  time  he  held  my  hand  in  his  as  I  fol- 
lowed in  my  usual  squaw  style. 

In  all  the  long  dreary  weeks  that  followed 
I  was  glad  that  I  had  had  that  dinner  at 
sunset  and  moonrise  with  him  down  in  the 
cove  at  the  spring  that  was  away  from  all  the 
world.  All  during  the  days  that  never 
seemed  to  end,  as  I  went  upon  my  round  of 
duties,  I  put  the  ache  of  the  memories  of  it 
from  me,  but  in  the  night  I  took  the  agony 
into  my  heart  and  cherished  it. 

"And  it 's  the  Romney  hand  ye  have  with 
the  herb-pot,  Woman  dear,"  said  Adam  as 
he  squatted  down  beside  our  simmering  pot 
and  stirred  it  with  the  clean  hickory  stick  I 
had  barked  for  that  purpose  when,  very 
shortly  after  high  noon,  I  had  put  the  greens, 

147 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

with  the  two  wild  onion  sprigs  and  the  hand- 
ful of  inevitable  black-walnut  kernels,  into 
the  iron  pot  set  on  the  two  rocks  with  their 
smoldering  green  fire  between.  "You  know 
you  'd  rather  be  eating  this  dinner  of  sprouts 
and  black  bread  with  your  poor  Adam  than 
— than  dancing  that  'Cloud  Drift'  in  town 
with  Matthew  Berry — or  Baldwin  the 
enemy." 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  as  I  knelt  beside  him 
and  thrust  in  another  slim  stick  and  tasted 
the  juice  of  the  pot  off  the  end.  "But  it 
would  be  hard  to  make  Matthew  believe  it. 
I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Matt  is  really  going 
in  for  farming,  thanks  to  the  evil  influence 
of  your  friend  Evan  Baldwin,  who  would  n't 
know  a  farm  if  he  met  one  on  the  road,  a 
real  farm,  I  mean.  Poor  Matt  little  knows 
the  life  of  toil  he  is  plotting  for  himself." 

"Is  he  coming  to  live  at  Elmnest?"  asked 
Adam,  in  a  voice  of  entire  unconcern,  as  he 
took  the  black  loaf  from  his  gypsy  pack  and 
began  to  cut  it  up  into  hunks  and  lay  it  on 
the  clean  rock  beside  the  pot. 

148 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"He  is  not,"  I  answered  with  an  indigna- 
tion that  I  could  see  no  reason  for. 

"Sooner  or  later,  Woman,  you  '11  have  to 
take  a  mate,"  was  the  primitive  statement 
that  confronted  me  as  I  lifted  the  pot  with 
the  skirt  of  my  blouse  and  poured  the  greens 
into  two  brown  crockery  bowls  that  Adam 
kept  secreted  with  the  pot  on  a  ledge  of  the 
old  spring-house. 

"Well,  a  husky  young  farmer  is  the  only 
kind  of  a  man  who  need  apply.  I  mean  a 
born  rustic.  I  couldn't  risk  an  amateur 
with  the  farm  after  all  you  Ve  taught  me," 
I  answered  as  we  seated  ourselves  on  the 
warm  earth  side  by  side  and  began  to  dip 
the  hunks  of  black  bread  into  our  bowls  and 
lift  the  delicious  wilted  leaves  to  our  mouths 
with  it,  a  mode  of  consumption  it  had  taken 
Pan  several  attempts  to  teach  me.  Pan 
never  talks  when  he  eats,  and  he  seems  to 
browse  food  in  a  way  that  each  time  tempts 
me  more  and  more  to  reach  out  my  hand  and 
lift  one  of  the  red  crests  to  see  about  the 
points  of  his  ears. 

149 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Do  you  want  to  hear  my  invocation  to 
my  ultimate  woman?"  he  asked  as  he  set  his 
bowl  down  after  polishing  it  out  with  his 
last  chunk  of  bread  some  minutes  after  I 
had  so  finished  up  mine. 

"Is  it  more  imperative  than  the  one  you 
give  me  under  my  window  before  I  have 
had  less  than  a  good  half -night's  sleep  every 
morning?"  I  asked  as  I  crushed  a  blade  of 
meadow  fern  in  my  hands  and  inhaled  its 
queer  tang. 

"I  await  my  beloved  in 
Grain  fields. 
Come,  woman! 
In  thy  eyes  is  truth. 
Thy  body  must  give  food  with 
Sweat  of  labor,  and  thy  lips 
Hold  drink  for  love  thirst. 
I  am  thy  child. 
I  am  thy  mate. 
Come!" 

Pan  took  my  hand  in  his  as  he  chanted, 
and  held  my  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  ended 
his  chant  with  several  weird,  eery,  crooning 
150 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

notes  blown  across  his  lips  and  through  my 
fingers  out  into  the  moonlit  shadows. 

"I  feel  about  you  just  as  I  do  about  one 
of  Mrs.  Ewe's  lambkins,"  I  whispered,  with 
a  queer  answering  laugh  in  my  voice,  which 
held  and  repeated  the  croon  in  his. 

"I  am  thy  child. 
I  am  thy  mate. 
Oh,  come !" 

again  chanted  Pan,  and  it  surely  wasn't 
imagination  that  made  me  think  that  the 
red  crests  ruffled  in  the  wind.  The  light  in 
his  eyes  was  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  seen ; 
it  smouldered  and  flamed  like  the  embers 
under  the  pot  beside  the  rock.  It  drew  me 
until  the  sleeve  of  my  smock  brushed  his 
sleeve  of  gray  flannel.  His  arms  hovered, 
but  did  n't  quite  enclose  me. 

"And  the  way  I  am  going  to  feel  about 
all  the  little  chickens  out  of  the  incubator," 
I  added  slowly  as  if  the  admission  was  be- 
ing drawn  out  of  me.  Still  the  arms  hov- 
ered, the  crests  ruffled,  and  the  eyes  searched 

151 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

down  into  the  depths  of  me,  which  had  so 
lately  been  plowed  and  harrowed  and  sown 
with  a  new  and  productive  flower. 

"And  the  old  twin  fathers,"  I  added  al- 
most begrudgingly,  as  I ,  cast  him  my  last 
treasure. 

Then  with  a  laugh  that  I  know  was  a  line- 
reproduction  descended  from  the  one  that 
Adam  gave  when  he  first  recognized  Eve, 
Pan  folded  me  into  his  arms,  laid  his  red 
head  on  my  breast,  and  held  up  his  lips  to 
mine  with  a  "love-thirst"  that  it  took  me 
more  than  a  long  minute  to  slack  to  the 
point  of  words. 

"I  knew  there  was  one  earth  woman  due 
to  develop  at  the  first  decade  of  this  cen- 
tury, and  I  Ve  found  her,"  Pan  fluted 
softly  as  he  in  turn  took  me  on  his  breast 
and  pressed  his  russet  cheek  against  the  tan 
of  mine.  "I  'm  going  to  take  her  off  into 
the  woods  and  then  in  a  generation  salva- 
tion for  the  nation  will  come  forth  from 
the  forest." 

"My  word  is  given  to  the  Golden  Bird  to 

152 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

see  his  progeny  safe  into  the  world,  and  I 
must  do  that  before — "  but  my  words  ended 
in  a  laugh  as  I  slipped  out  of  Pan's  arms  and 
sprang  to  my  feet  and  away  from  him. 

"We  '11  keep  that  faith  with  Mr.  Bird  to- 
night, and  then  I  can  take  you  with  me  be- 
fore daylight,"  said  Pan  as  he  collected  his 
Romney  bundle  with  his  left  hand  and  me 
with  his  right  and  began  to  pad  up  the  path 
from  the  spring-house  towards  the  barn 
under  a  shower  of  the  white  locust-blossoms, 
which  were  giving  forth  their  last  breath  of 
perfume  in  a  gorgeous  volume. 

"To-night?"  I  asked  from  the  hollow  be- 
tween his  breast  and  his  arm  where  I  was 
fitted  and  held  steadily  so  that  my  steps 
seemed  to  be  his  steps  and  the  breath  of  my 
lungs  to  come  from  his. 

"Yes;  most  of  the  eggs  were  pipped  when 
I  went  in  the  barn  to  put  away  the  tools," 
answered  Adam,  with  very  much  less  excite- 
ment than  the  occasion  called  for. 

"Oh,  why— why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  I 
demanded  as  I  came  out  of  the  first  half  of 

153 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

a  kiss  and  before  I  retired  into  the  last  half. 

"Too  hungry — had  to  be  fed  before  they 
got  to  eating  at  your  heart,"  answered  Pan 
in  a  way  that  made  me  know  that  he  meant 
me  and  not  the  dandelion  greens  and  brown 
bread. 

"You  are  joking  me;  they  are  not  due 
until  day  after  to-morrow,"  I  said  as  I  took 
my  lips  away  and  began  to  hurry  us  both 
towards  the  barn. 

"All  April  hatches  are  from  two  to  three 
days  early,"  was  Adam's  prosaic  and  in- 
structive answer  that  cut  the  last  kiss  short 
as  we  entered  the  barn-door. 


154 


CHAPTER  VIII 

QUICKLY  I  released  myself  from  his 
arm  and  flew  to  kneel  in  front  of  the 
metal  mother,  with  the  electric  torch  aimed 
directly  into  the  little  window  that  revealed 
all  her  inmost  processes.  The  Peckerwood 
Pan  hovered  just  at  my  shoulder,  and  to- 
gether we  beheld  what  was  to  me  the  most 
wonderful  phenomenon  of  nature  that  had 
ever  come  my  way.  No  sunset  from  Pike's 
Peak  or  high  note  from  the  throat  of  Ca- 
ruso could  equal  it  in  my  estimation.  Be- 
hold, the  first  baby  Bird  stepped  forth  into 
the  world  right  before  my  astonished  and 
enraptured  eyes!  It  was  in  this  manner. 
"Look,  right  here  next  to  the  glass,"  said 
Adam,  as  he  put  his  finger  against  the  lower 
left-hand  corner  of  the  peep  window,  and 
there  I  directed  my  torch.  One  of  the  great 
white  pearls  had  a  series  of  little  holes 
around  one  end  of  it,  and  while  I  gazed  a 

155 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

sharp  little  beak  was  thrust  suddenly  from 
within  it.  The  shell  fell  apart,  and  out 
stepped  the  first  small  Leghorn  Bird  with 
an  assurance  that  had  an  undoubted  resem- 
blance to  that  of  his  masculine  parent.  For 
a  moment  he  blinked  and  balanced;  then  he 
stretched  his  small  wings  and  shook  himself, 
an  operation  that  seemed  to  fluff  about  fifty 
per  cent,  of  the  moist  aspect  from  his  plump 
little  body,  and  then  he  deliberately  turned 
and  looked  into  my  wide-opened  eyes.  I 
promptly  gasped  and  sat  down  on  the  barn 
floor,  with  my  head  weakly  cuddled  against 
Adam's  knee. 

"Two  more  here  on  the  right-hand  side, 
Woman,"  said  Adam,  as  he  knelt  beside  me, 
took  the  torch,  supported  me  in  my  reaction 
of  astonishment,  and  showed  me  where  a 
perfect  little  batch  of  babies  was  being  born. 
"Whew,  Farmer  Craddock,  but  those  are 
fine  chickens!  Heaven  help  us,  but  they 
are  all  exploding  at  one  time!  Only  eggs 
of  one  hundred  per  cent,  vigor  and  fertility 
hatch  that  way.  Look  at  the  moisture  gath- 

156 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ering  on  the  glass.  If  you  put  your  hand 
in  there  you  would  find  it  about  a  hundred 
and  ten." 

"Oh,  look!  G.  Bird  Junior,  the  first,  is 
almost  dry.  Please,  please  let  me  take  him 
in  my  hand!"  I  exclaimed  as  that  five-min- 
ute-old baby  pressed  close  up  Against  the 
glass  and  blinked  at  the  light  and  us  be- 
witchingly. 

"You  must  n't  open  the  door  for  at  least 
twelve  hours  now.  Come  away  before  the 
temptation  overcomes  you,"  commanded 
Pan. 

"Wait  twelve  hours  to  take  that  fluff-ball 
in  my  hands?  Adam,  you  are  cruel,"  I  said, 
as  he  pocketed  the  torch  and  left  the  drama 
of  birth  dark  and  without  footlights.  As 
he  padded  away  towards  the  moonlit  barn- 
door, I  followed  him  in  reluctant  protest. 

"Do  you  see  that  tall  pine  outlined  against 
the  sky  over  there  on  Paradise  Ridge, 
Woman?"  asked  Adam,  with  the  Pan  lights 
and  laugh  coming  back  into  his  farmer  eyes 
and  voice.  "I  have  got  to  be  there  an  hour 

157 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

before  dawn,  and  it  is  fifteen  good  miles  or 
more.  I  want  to  roll  against  a  log  some- 
where and  sleep  a  bit,  and  it  is  now  after 
ten  o'clock.  Go  get  your  bundle,  and  I  '11 
hang  it  on  my  stick,  and  we  will  disappear 
into  the  forest  forever.  I  know  a  hermit 
who  '11  put  us  in  marriage  bonds.  Come !" 
As  he  held  out  his  arms  Adam  began  to 
chant  the  weird  tune  to  that  mate  song  of 
his  own  invention. 

"You  know  I  can't  do  that,"  I  said  as  I 
went  into  his  embrace  and  drank  the  chant 
down  into  my  heart.  "There  are  so  many 
live  things  that  I  must  stay  to  watch  over. 
I — I  'm  their — mother  as  well  as — as  yours. 
They  must  be  fed." 

"God,  there  really  is  such  a  thing  as  a 
woman,"  said  Adam  as  he  hid  his  smoulder- 
ing eyes  against  my  lips.  "You  '11  be  wait- 
ing when  I  come  back,  and  you  '11  go  with 
me  the  minute  I  call,  if  it's  day  or  night? 
You  '11  be  ready  with  your  bundle?" 

"You  don't  mean  at  daylight  to-morrow, 
do  you,  Pan,  dear?"  I  asked,  with  one  of 

158 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  last  kughs  that  my  heart  was  to  know, 
for  sometimes,  it  seemed  forever,  rippling 
out  past  his  crimson  crests. 

"No;  listen  to  me,  Woman,"  said  Adam, 
as  he  held  me  tenderly  on  his  right  arm  and 
took  both  my  hands  in  his  and  held  them 
pressed  hard  against  my  breast.  "I  am  go- 
ing away  to-night,  and  I  don't  know  when 
I  can  get  back.  I  only  knew  to-day  I  'd 
have  to  go ;  that 's  why  I — I  took  you  and 
put  my  brand  on  your  heart  to-night.  I 
can  leave  you  aloose  in  the  forest  and  know 
that  I  '11  find  you  mine  when  I  can  come 
back.  But,  oh,  come  with  me!" 

"I  would  n't  be  your  earth  woman,  Adam, 
if  I  left  all  these  helpless  things.  I  '11  wait 
for  you,  and  no  matter  when  you  come  I  '11 
be  ready.  Only,  only  you  '11  never  take  me 
quite  away  from  them  all,  will  you?" 

"No ;  I  '11  build  a  nest  over  there  in  the 
big  woods,  and  you  can  go  back  and  forth 
between  my — my  brood  and  Mr.  G.  Bird's," 
promised  Adam  with  Pan's  fluty  laugh. 

"Branded,  and  I  don't  even  know  the  ini- 

159 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

tials  on  the  brand,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I 
stood  on  the  front  steps  under  a  honey- 
suckle vine  that  was  twining  with  a  musky 
rose  in  a  death  struggle  as  to  the  strength 
of  their  perfumes,  and  watched  Adam  go 
padding  swiftly  and  silently  away  from  me 
down  the  long  avenue  of  elms.  A  mocking- 
bird in  a  tree  over  by  the  fence  was  pouring 
out  showers  of  notes  of  liquid  love,  and  ring- 
doves cooed  and  softly  nestled  up  under  the 
eaves  above  my  head.  "I  'm  a  woman  and 
I  've  found  my  mate.  I  am  going  to  be 
part  of  it  all,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  sank  to 
the  step  and  began  to  brood  with  the  night 
around  me. 

I  think  that  God  gives  it  sometimes  to  a 
woman  to  have  a  night  in  which  she  sits  alone 
brooding  her  love  until  somehow  it  waxes 
so  strong  and  brave  that  it  can  face  death 
by  starvation  and  cold  and  betrayal  and  still 
live  triumphant.  It  is  so  that  He  recreates 
His  children. 

"Now,  of  course,  Ann,  everybody  admires 
your  pluck  about  this  retiring  from  the 

160 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

world  and  becoming  a  model  rustic,  but  it 
does  seem  to  me  that  you  might  admit  that 
some  of  your  old  friends  have  at  least  a  part 
of  the  attraction  for  you  that  is  vested  in, 
well,  say  old  Mrs.  Red  Ally,  for  instance. 
Will  you  or  will  you  not  come  in  to  dine 
and  to  wine  and  to  dance  at  the  country 
club  with  Matthew  Saturday  evening?" 
Bess  delivered  herself  of  the  text  of  her  mis- 
sion to  me  before  she  descended  from  her 
cherry  roadster  in  front  of  the  barn. 

"Oh,  Bess,  just  come  and  see  old  Mrs.  Red 
and  never,  never  ask  me  to  feel  about  a 
mere  friend  of  my  childhood  like  I  do  about 
her,"  I  answered  with  welcome  and  excite- 
ment both  in  my  voice.  "Do  come  quick 
and  look!" 

"Coming,"  answered  Bess,  with  delightful 
enthusiasm  and  no  wounded  pride,  as  she  left 
the  car  in  one  motion  and  swept  into  the 
barn  with  me  in  about  two  more. 

"Now,  just  look  at  that,"  I  said  as  I 
opened  the  top  of  the  long  box  that  is  called 
a  brooder  and  is  supposed  to  supplement  the 

161 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

functions  of  the  metal  incubator  mother  in 
the  destiny  of  chicken  young.  It  has  feed 
and  water-pans  in  it,  straw  upon  the  floor 
as  a  carpet,  and  behind  flannel  portieres  is 
supposed  to  burn  a  lamp  with  mother  ardor 
sufficient  to  keep  the  small  fledglings  warm, 
though  orphaned.  Did  the  week-old  babies 
Leghorn  have  to  be  content  with  such 
mechanical  mothering?  Not  at  all!  Right 
in  the  middle  of  the  brooder  sat  the  old  Red 
Ally,  and  her  huge  red  wings  were  stretched 
out  to  cover  about  twenty-five  of  the  metal- 
born  babies  and  part  of  her  own  fifteen,  and 
spread  in  a  close,  but  fluffy,  circle  around  her 
were  the  rest  of  her  adopted  family  all  cosily 
asleep  and  happy  at  heart.  "I  left  the  top 
of  the  brooder  open  while  I  went  for  water 
the  second  day  after  hers  and  the  incubator's 
had  hatched,  and  when  I  came  back  she  was 
just  as  you  see  her  now,  in  possession  of  the 
entire  orphan-asylum." 

"Oh,  look,  she  's  putting  some  out  from 
under  her  and  taking  others  in.     Oh,  Ann !" 

162 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

exclaimed  Bess  as  she  dropped  on  her  knees 
beside  the  long  box. 

"Yes ;  she  changes  them  like  that.  I  Ve 
seen  her  do  it,"  I  answered,  with  my  cheeks 
as  pink  with  excitement  as  were  those  of  my 
sympathetic  friend,  Elizabeth  Rutherford. 
"And  you  ought  to  see  her  take  them  all  out 
for  a  walk  across  the  grass.  They  all  peep 
and  follow,  and  she  clucks  and  scratches  im- 
partially." 

"Ann,"  said  Bess,  with  a  great  solemnity 
in  the  dark  eyes  that  she  raised  to  mine,  "I 
suppose  I  ought  to  marry  Owen  this  June. 
I  want  to  have  another  winter  of  good  times, 
but  I — I  'm  ashamed  to  look  this  hen  in  the 
face." 

"Owen  is  perfectly  lovely,"  I  answered 
her,  which  was  a  very  safely  noncommittal 
answer  in  the  circumstances. 

"He  carries  one  of  the  chickens  he  bought 
from  you  in  his  pocket  all  the  time,  with  all 
necessary  food,  and  it  is  much  larger  than 
any  of  mine  or  his  in  my  conservatory. 

163 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Owen  is  the  one  who  goes  in  to  tend  to  them 
when  he  brings  me  home  from  parties  and 
things  and — and — " 

"Matthew  took  off  all  of  his  and  Polly's 
little  Reds  yesterday,  and  I  Ve  never  seen 
him  so — so — "  I  paused  for  a  word  to  ex- 
press the  tenderness  that  was  in  dear  old 
Matt's  face  as  he  put  the  little  tan  fluff-balls 
one  at  a  time  into  Polly  Corn-tassel's  out- 
stretched skirt. 

"Matthew  is  a  wonder,  Ann,  and  you  Ve 
got  to  come  to  this  dance  he  is  giving  Corn- 
tassel  Saturday — all  for  love  of  you  because 
you  asked  him  to  look  after  her.  He  is  the 
sweetest  thing  to  her — just  like  old  Mrs. 
Red  here,  spreads  his  wings  and  fusses  if 
any  man  who  is  n't  a  lineal  descendant  of  Sir 
Galahad  comes  near  her.  He  's  going  to  be 
awfully  hurt  if  you  don't  come." 

"Then  I  '11  tear  myself  away  from  my 
family  and  come,  though  I  truly  can't  see 
that  I  wished  Polly  Corn-tassel  upon  all  of 
you.  You  are  just  as  crazy  about  the 
apple-blossom  darling  as  I  am,  you  specially, 

164 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Bess  Rutherford,"  I  answered,  with  pleased 
indignation. 

"Ann,  I  do  wish  you  could  have  seen  her 
in  that  frilled  white  thing  with  the  two  huge 
blue  bows  at  the  ends  of  the  long  plaits  at  my 
dinner-dance  the  other  night,  standing  and 
looking  at  everybody  with  all  the  fascination 
and  coquetry  of — of — well,  that  little  Golden 
Bird  peeping  at  us  from  the  left-hand  corner 
of  Mrs.  Red  Ally's  right  wing.  Where  did 
she  get  that  frock?" 

"Do  you  suppose  that  a  woman  who  runs 
a  farm  dairy  of  fifty  cows,  while  her  husband 
banks  and  post-offices  and  groceries  would 
be  at  all  routed  by  a  few  yards  of  lace  and 
muslin  and  a  current  copy  of  'The  Woman's 
Review'?  Aunt  Mary  made  that  dress  be- 
tween sun-up  and  -down  and  worked  out 
fifty  pounds  of  butter  as  well,"  I  answered, 
with  a  glow  of  class  pride  in  my  rustic 
breast. 

"All  of  that  is  what  is  seething  in  my  blood 
until  I  can't  stand  it,"  said  Bess  as  we 
walked  towards  the  barn-door.  "The  rea- 

165 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

son  I  just  feel  like  devouring  Polly  Corn- 
tassel  is  that  somehow  she  seems  to  taste  like 
bread  and  butter  to  me;  I  'm  tired  of  life 
served  with  mayonnaise  dressing  with  ta- 
basco and  caviar  in  it. 

"Yes,  a  Romney  herb-pot  is  better,"  I  said, 
as  a  strange  chant  began  to  play  itself  on 
my  heartstrings  with  me  alone  for  a  breath- 
less audience. 

"And  if  you  come  in  on  Saturday  you 
can — "  Bess  was  saying  in  a  positive  tone 
that  admitted  of  no  retreat,  when  Matthew's 
huge  blue  car  came  around  the  drive  from 
the  front  of  Elmnest  and  stopped  by  Bess's 
roadster.  On  the  front  seat  sat  Matthew, 
and  Corn-tassel  was  beside  him,  but  the  rest 
of  the  car  was  piled  high  with  huge  sacks  of 
grain,  which  looked  extremely  sensible  and 
out  of  place  in  the  handsomest  car  in  the 
Harpeth  Valley. 

"Oh,  Miss  Ann,  Mr.  Matthew  and  I  found 
the  greatest  bargain  in  winter  wheat,  and 
the  man  opened  every  sack  and  let  me  run 
my  arm  to  the  elbow  in  it.  It  is  all  hard 

166 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

and  not  short  in  a  single  grain.  We  are 
going  to  trade  you  half."  And  Polly's  blue 
eyes,  which  still  looked  like  the  uncommer- 
cialized  violet  despite  a  six  weeks'  acquaint- 
ance with  society  in  Hayesville,  danced  with 
true  farmer  delight. 

"It 's  warranted  to  make  'em  lay  in  night 
shifts,  Ann,"  said  Matthew  as  he  beamed 
down  upon  me  with  a  delight  equal  to 
Polly's,  and  somehow  equally  as  young. 
"Where '11  I  put  it?  In  the  feed-room  in 
the  bins?" 

"Yes,  and  they  are  almost  empty.  I  was 
wondering  what  I  would  do  next  for  food, 
because  I  owe  Ruf us  and  the  hogs  so  much," 
I  answered  gratefully. 

"What  did  you  pay?"  asked  Bess,  in  a 
business-like  tone  of  voice. 

"Only  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  bushel,  all 
seed  grade,"  answered  Matthew,  with  the 
greatest  nonchalance,  as  if  he  had  known  the 
grades  of  wheat  from  his  earliest  infancy. 

"Why,  Owen  bought  two  bags  of  it  for 
our  joint  family  and  paid  such  a  fortune  for 

167 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

it  that  I  forgot  the  figures  immediately ;  but 
I  took  up  the  rug  and  put  it  all  in  my  dress- 
ing-room to  watch  over,  lest  thieves  break 
into  the  garage  and  steal.  Also  I  made 
him  send  me  plebeian  carnations  instead  of 
violets  for  Belle  Proctor's  dinner  Tuesday," 
said  Bess,  with  covetousness  in  her  eyes  as 
she  watched  Matthew  begin  to  unload  his 
wheat.  I  wonder  what  Matthew's  man, 
Hickson,  at  one  twenty-five  a  month, 
thought  of  his  master's  coat  when  he  began 
to  brush  the  chaff  out  of  its  London  nap. 

"Oh,  Owen  Murray  is  just  a  town-bred 
duffer,"  said  Matthew,  as  he  shouldered  his 
last  sack  of  grain. 

"Well,  you  are  vastly  mistaken  if  you 
think  that — "  Bess  was  beginning  to  say  in 
a  manner  that  I  knew  from  long  experience 
would  bring  on  a  war  of  words  between  her 
and  Matthew  when  a  large  and  cheerful  in- 
terruption in  the  shape  and  person  of  Aunt 
Mary  Corn-tassel  came  around  the  corner 
of  the  house. 

"Well,  well,  what  sort  of  city  farming  is 

168 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

going  on  to-day  amongst  all  these  stylish 
folks?"  she  asked  as  she  skirted  the  two  cars 
at  what  she  considered  a  safe  and  respectful 
distance,  and  handed  me  a  bunch  of  sweet 
clover-pinks  with  a  spring  perfume  that 
made  me  think  of  the  breath  of  Pan 
O' Woods  as  I  buried  my  lips  in  them. 
"You,  Polly,  go  right  home  and  take  off  that 
linen  dress,  get  into  a  gingham  apron,  and 
begin  to  help  Bud  milk.  I  believe  in 
gavots  at  parties  only  if  they  strengthen 
muscles  for  milking  time." 

"May  I  wait  and  ride  down  with  Mr. 
Matthew  and  show  him  where  to  put  our 
wheat,  Mother?"  asked  Polly  as  she  snug- 
gled up  to  her  mother,  who  was  pinning  a 
stray  pink  into  Matthew's  button-hole  per 
his  request. 

"Yes,  if  he  '11  put  his  legs  under  old  Mrs. 
Butter  to  help  you  get  done  before  I  am 
ready  to  strain  up,"  answered  Aunt  Mary, 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eye  as  she  re- 
garded Matthew  in  his  purple  and  fine  linen. 
"Put  an  apron  on  him,"  she  added. 

169 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Lead  me  to  the  apron,"  said  Matthew, 
with  real  and  not  mock  heroics. 

"But  before  you  go  I  want  to  tell  all  of 
you  about  an  invitation  that  has  come  over 
the  telephone  in  the  bank  to  all  of  Riverfield, 
and  make  a  consultation  about  it.  Now 
who  do  you  suppose  gave  it?" 

"Who?"  we  all  asked  in  chorus. 

"Nobody  less  than  the  governor  of  the 
State  called  up  Silas,  me  answering  for  him 
on  account  of  his  deafness,  and  asked  every- 
body to  come  in  to  town  next  Saturday  night 
to  hear  this  new  commissioner  of  agriculture 
that  he  is  going  to  appoint  make  the  opening 
address  of  his  office,  I  reckon  you  could  call 
it.  You  know  Silas  is  the  leading  Demo- 
crat of  this  district,  and  the  governor  has 
opened  riz  biscuits  with  me  many  a  time.  I 
told  him  'Thank  you,  sir,'  we  would  all 
come  and  hear  the  young  man  talk  about 
what  he  didn't  know,  and  he  laughed  and 
rang  off.  Yes,  we  are  all  going  in  a  kind 
of  caravan  of  vehicles,  and  I  want  you  to  go, 
Nancy,  in  the  family  coach  and  take  Mrs. 

170 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Tillett  with  you  on  account  of  her  having 
to  take  all  the  seven  little  Tilletts,  because 
there  won't  be  a  minder  woman  left  to  look 
after  'em.  Bud  will  drive  so  as  not  to  dis- 
turb Cradd  or  William  in  their  Heathen 
pursuits  or  discommode  Rufus'  disposition. 
Now,  won't  it  be  nice  for  the  whole  town  to 
go  junketing  in  like  that?"  As  she  spoke 
Aunt  Mary  beamed  upon  us  all  with  pure 
delight. 

"But  Saturday  evening  is  the  night  that 
Mr.  Matthew  is  going  to  have  that  dance  for 
me,  Mother,"  said  Polly,  with  the  violets  be- 
coming slightly  sprinkled  underneath  the 
long  black  lashes. 

"Well,  dancing  can  wait  a  spell,"  an- 
swered Aunt  Mary,  comfortably.  "The 
governor  said  that  all  the  folks  at  Cloverbend 
and  Providence  and  Hillsboro  are  going, 
and  Riverfield  has  got  to  shake  out  a  forefoot 
in  the  trip  and  not  a  hind  one." 

"Oh,  we  '11  have  the  dance  next  week, 
Corn-tassel,"  promised  Matthew,  promptly 
enough  to  prevent  the  drenching  of  the  vio- 

171 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

lets.  "It  will  be  great  to  hear  Baldwin 
accept  his  portfolio,  as  it  were." 

"And  after  his  term  begins  I  suppose  he  '11 
have  offices  at  the  capitol  and  will  be  in 
town  most  of  the  time.  Then  we  can  have 
him  at  all  the  dances.  Polly,  he  dances 
like  nothing  earthly.  Still  Matthew  won't 
let  him  come  near  you ;  he 's  deadly  to 
women.  We  are  all  positively  drugged  by 
him,"  exclaimed  Bess,  delighted  at  the  idea 
of  Hayesville  society  acquiring  the  new 
commissioner  of  agriculture  for  a  permanent 
light. 

"Then  I  can  count  on  you  to  help  Mrs. 
Tillett  and  the  children  in  and  out,  Nancy?" 
continued  Aunt  Mary,  with  the  light  of  such 
generalship  in  her  eye  that  I  was  afraid  even 
to  mention  my  one-sided  feud  with  the  hero 
of  the  hour.  "You  can  take  Baby  Tillett 
and  sit  a  little  way  apart  from  her  so  she 
won't  have  to  feed  him  all  the  time  to  keep 
him  quiet." 

"I   can   take   eight   people   in   my   car, 

172 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Mother  Corn-tassel,"  said  Matthew,  with 
the  most  beautiful  eagerness. 

"I  can  get  in  five,"  added  Bess,  with  an 
equal  eagerness.  "Can  I  have  the  Add- 
cocks?"  Bess  and  the  pessimistic  Mrs. 
Addcock  had  got  together  over  some  medi- 
cine to  prevent  pip  in  the  conservatory 
young  Leghorns. 

"Yes,  and  Matthew  can  take  all  the  eight 
Spains  if  I  can  sit  down  Mrs.  Spain  to  a 
bolt  of  gingham  in  time  to  get  them  all 
nicely  covered  for  such  a  company,"  decreed 
the  general,  as  she  ran  over  in  her  mind's 
eye  the  rest  of  the  population  of  Riverfield. 
"I  '11  make  all  the  men  hitch  their  best  teams 
to  the  different  rigs,  and  by  starting  early 
and  taking  both  dinner  and  supper  on  the 
way  we  can  get  there  in  plenty  of  time. 
Twenty  miles  is  not  more  than  a  half  day's 
trip." 

"I  can  sit  by  you  and  hold  two  Spains  in 
my  lap,"  I  heard  Polly  plan  with  Matthew. 

"Sure  you  can,"  he  answered  her.     "I 

173 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

think  the  loveliest  thing  about  Matthew 
Berry  is  the  way  he  speaks  to  women  and 
children."  As  he  answered,  he  piled  Aunt 
Mary  and  Polly  in  beside  the  rest  of  the 
wheat-bags  and  motored  them  away  down 
the  avenue. 

"Ann,  please  come  to  town  with  me," 
pleaded  Bess  as  she  got  into  her  car  and  pre- 
pared to  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  wheat  T 
bags.  "I  miss  you  so,  and  Belle  weeps  at 
the  mention  of  you.  She  and  I  are  having 
dinner  at  the  Old  Hickory  Club  with  Hous- 
ton Jeffries  and  Owen  to-night.  Matt  will 
come,  and  let 's  have  one  good  old  time.  I 
came  all  this  way  to  get  you." 

"I  honestly,  honestly  can't,  Bess,"  I  said 
as  I  took  her  hand  stretched  down  from  her 
seat  behind  the  wheel  to  me,  and  put  my 
cheek  against  it.  "I  Ve  got  this  whole  farm 
to  feed  between  now  and  night.  Both  in- 
cubators must  have  their  supper  of  oil  or 
you  know  what  '11  happen.  Mrs.  Ewe  and 
family  must  be  fed,  or  rather  she  must  be 

174 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

fed  so  as  to  pass  it  along  at  about  breakfast 
time,  I  should  say,  not  being  wise  in  biology 
or  natural  history;  the  entire  Bird  family  are 
invited  to  supper  with  me,  and  I  even  have 
to  carry  a  repast  of  corn  over  the  meadows 
to  my  pet  abhorrences,  Rufus'  swine,  because 
he  has  retired  to  the  hay-loft  with  a  flannel 
rag  around  his  head,  which  means  I  have 
offended  him  or  that  father  has  given  him  an 
extra  absent-minded  drink  from  the  decanter 
that  Matthew  brought  him.  Peckerwood 
Pup  is  at  this  moment,  you  see,  chewing  the 
strings  out  of  my  shoes  as  an  appetizer  for 
her  supper.  How  could  I  eat  sweetbreads 
and  truffle,  which  I  know  Owen  has  already 
ordered,  when  I  knew  that  more  than  a  hun- 
dred small  children  were  at  home  crying  for 
bread?" 

''Ann,  what  is  it  that  makes  you  so  per- 
fectly radiantly  beautiful  in  that  faded  linen 
smock  and  old  corduroy  skirt?  Of  course, 
you  always  were  beautiful,  but  now  you  look 
like — like — well,  I  don't  know  whether  it  is 

175 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

a  song  I  have  heard  or  a  picture  I  have  seen." 
Bess  leaned  down  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
mine  for  a  second. 

"I  'm  going  to  tell  you  some  day  before 
long,"  I  whispered  as  I  kissed  the  corner  of 
her  lips.  "Now  do  take  the  twin  fathers  for 
a  little  spin  up  the  road  and  make  them 
walk  back  from  the  gate.  They  have  been 
suffering  with  the  Trojan  warriors  all  day, 
and  I  know  they  must  have  exercise.  Uncle 
Cradd  walks  down  for  the  mail  each  day,  but 
father  remains  stationary.  Your  method 
with  them  is  perfect.  Go  take  them  while 
I  supper  and  bed  down  the  farm." 

"I  know  now  the  picture  is  by  Tintoretto, 
and  it 's  some  place  in  Rome,"  Bess  called 
back  over  her  shoulder  as  she  drove  her  car 
slowy  around  to  the  front  door  to  begin  her 
conquest  and  deportation  of  my  precious 
ancients. 

"Not  painted  by  Tintoretto,  but  by  the 
pagan  Pan,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  turned 
into  the  barn  door. 


176 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEN  I  came  out  with  a  bucket  of 
the  new  wheat  in  my  hand,  I  heard 
Bess  and  her  car  departing,  with  Uncle 
Cradd's  sonorous  speech  mingling  with  the 
puff  of  the  engine. 

"We  are  all  alone,  Mr.  G.  Bird,  and  we 
love  it,  because  then  we  can  talk  comfortably 
about  our  Mr.  Adam,"  I  said  to  the  Golden 
Bird  as  he  followed  me  around  the  side  of 
the  barn  where  a  door  had  been  cut  by  Pan 
himself  to  make  an  entry  into  my  improvised 
chicken-house. 

Suddenly  I  was  answered  by  a  very  inter- 
esting chuckling  and  clucking,  and  I  turned 
to  see  what  had  disengaged  the  attention  of 
Mr.  G.  Bird  from  me  and  my  feed-bucket. 
The  sight  that  met  my  eyes  lifted  the  shadow 
that  had  lain  between  the  Golden  Bird  and 
me  since  the  morning  I  had  taken  him  in  to 

177 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

see  his  newly  arrived  progeny  and  had  not 
been  able  to  make  him  notice  their  existence. 
Stretching  out  behind  me  was  a  trail  of 
wheat  that  had  dripped  from  a  hole  in  the 
side  of  the  bucket,  and  along  the  sides  of  it 
the  paternal  Bird  was  marshaling  his  re- 
liable foster-mother,  Mrs.  Red  Ally's  and  all 
his  own  fluffy  white  progeny.  With  exceed- 
ing generosity  he  was  not  eating  a  grain  him- 
self, but  scratching  and  chortling  encourag- 
ingly. 

"I  knew  you  were  not  like  other  chicken 
men,  Mr.  G.  Bird,  'male  indifferent  to 
hatches,'  as  the  book  said,"  I  exclaimed  as 
he  caught  up  with  me  and  began  to  peck  the 
grains  I  offered  from  my  hand.  "You  are 
just  like  Owen  and  Matthew  and  Mr.  Tillett 
and — and — "  but  I  did  n't  continue  the  con- 
versation because  the  chant  began  rending 
my  heartstrings  again.  "Oh,  Mr.  G.  Bird, 
it  is  an  awful  thing  for  a  woman  to  have  an 
apple  orchard  and  lilac  bushes  in  bloom 
when  she  is  alone,"  I  sighed  instead,  as  I 

178 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

went  on  to  my  round  of  feeding,  very  hungry 
myself  for — a  pot  of  herbs.  Later  I,  too, 
was  fed. 

Long  after  the  twin  fathers  had  had  sup- 
per and  were  settled  safely  by  their  candles, 
which  were  beacons  that  led  them  back  into 
past  ages,  I  sat  by  myself  on  the  front  door- 
step in  the  perfumed  darkness  that  was  only 
faintly  lit  by  stars  that  seemed  so  near  the 
earth  that  they  were  like  flowers  of  light 
blossoming  on  the  twigs  of  the  roof  elms. 
In  a  lovely  dream  I  had  just  gone  into  the 
arms  of  Pan  when  I  heard  out  beyond  the 
orchard  a  soft  moo  of  a  cow,  and  with  it 
came  a  weak  little  calf  echo. 

"Somebody's  cow  has  strayed — I  wish  she 
belonged  to  me  and  could  help  me  with  this 
nutrition  job,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  rose  and 
ran  down  under  the  branches  of  the  gnarled 
old  apple-trees,  which  sifted  down  perfumed 
blow  upon  my  head  as  I  ran.  Then  I 
stopped  and  listened  again.  Over  the  old 
stone  wall  that  separated  the  orchard  from 

179 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  pasture  I  heard  footsteps  and  soft  pant- 
ing, also  a  weak  little  cow-baby  protest  of 
fatigue. 

"I  '11  get  over  the  wall  and  see  if  there  is 
any  trouble  with  them,"  I  said  and  I  suited 
my  actions  to  my  words.  I  suppose  in  the 
dark  I  forgot  that  cows  have  horns  and  that 
I  had  never  even  been  introduced  to  one  be- 
fore, for  with  the  greatest  confidence  and 
sympathy  I  walked  up  near  the  large  black 
mass  that  was  the  cow  mother,  with  a  very 
small  and  wavering  body  pressed  close  at  her 
side. 

"Did  you  call  me,  Mother  Cow?"  I  asked 
softly. 

The  question  was  taken  from  my  lips  as 
Pan  came  out  of  the  darkness  behind  her 
and  took  me  into  his  arms. 

"Yes,  she  called  y<$|.  I  did  n't  think  I  'd 
see  you.  I  was  just  going  to  leave  her  for 
you  and  go  my  way;  but  trust  women  for 
secret  communication,"  he  said  as  my  arm 
slipped  around  his  bare  throat. 

"Not  see  me?"  I  questioned. 

180 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  never  wanted  to  see  you  again  until  I 
came  for  you,  Woman.  I  did  n't  think  I 
could  stand  it — to  put  you  out  of  my  arms 
again.  I  can't  take  you  with  me  to-night. 
I  came  miles  out  of  my  way  to  bring  her  to 
you,  and  I  've  hurried  them  both  cruelly. 
The  calf  is  only  two  days  old,  but  you  do 
need  her  badly  to  feed  the  chickens.  Milk- 
fed  chickens  show  a  gain  of  thirty  per  cent, 
over  others.  You  can  churn  and  get  all  the 
butter  you  need  and  feed  them  the  butter- 
milk." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  can  learn  to  milk  and 
churn  her?"  I  asked  as  I  shrank  a  bit  closer 
in  his  arms  from  this  new  responsibility. 

"Milk  her  and  churn  the  milk,"  laughed 
Pan  as  he  bent  my  head  forward  on  his  arm, 
set  his  teeth  in  the  back  of  my  neck,  and 
shook  me  like  Peckerwood  Pup  shakes  the 
gray  kitten  when  I  'm  not  looking. 

"Will  you  show  me  in  the  morning?" 

"Woman,  I  have  to  run  ten  miles  through 
the  forest  before  daybreak,  and  I  don't  know 
when  I  can  come  back  to  you.  I  know  I 

181 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ought  to  tell  you  things,  but  I — I  just  can't. 
I  demand  of  life  that  I  be  allowed  to  come 
for  you  and  take  you  into  the  woods  with 
only  your  Romney  bundle.  Will  you  be 
here  ready  for  me  when  I  come,  and  keep 
the  bundle  tied  up?" 

"Yes,"  I  answered  as  I  drew  his  head 
down  and  pressed  it  to  my  breast,  hoping 
that  he  might  hear  the  chant  on  my  heart- 
strings. I  think  he  did  hear. 

"I  am  thy  child. 
I  am  thy  mate. 
Come!" 

he  made  response,  as  he  slipped  from  my 
arms  and  away  into  the  darkness,  leav- 
ing me  alone  with  only  the  mother  cow 
for  company.  She  licked  my  arm  with  a 
warm,  rough  tongue,  and  I  came  back  into 
my  own  body  and  led  her  to  the  barn  and 
supper. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  love,  the  cultivated 
kind  that  bores  into  a  woman's  heart  through 
silk  and  laces  in  a  hot-house  atmosphere  and 

182 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

brings  about  all  kinds  of  enervating  reac- 
tions until  operated  upon  by  marriage;  the 
other  kind  a  field  woman  breathes  into  her 
lungs  and  it  gets  into  her  circulation  and 
starts  up  the  most  awful  and  productive  ac- 
tivity. I  Ve  had  both  kinds.  I  moped  for 
months  over  Gale  Beacon,  and  made  him  and 
Matthew  and  father  completely  unhappy, 
lost  ten  pounds,  and  was  sent  to  a  rest-cure 
for  temper.  The  next  morning  after  Adam 
gave  me  the  cow  and  calf  and  passionate  em- 
braces out  in  the  orchard  I  began  to  work 
like  six  women,  and  what  I  did  to  Elmnest 
not  ten  women  could  have  accomplished  in 
as  many  days. 

I  weeded  the  whole  garden  and  I  picked 
three  bushels  of  our  first  peas,  tied  up  sixty 
bunches  of  very  young  beets  with  long, 
tough  orchard  grass,  treated  fifty  bunches 
of  slender  onions  the  same  way,  half  a  dozen 
of  each  to  the  bunch,  and  helped  Bud  Corn- 
tassel  load  a  two-horse  wagon  with  them  and 
everything  eatable  he  could  get  out  of  Aunt 
Mary's  garden.  Then  I  got  up  at  two 

183 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

o'clock  in  the  night  and  fed  the  mules  so 
Bud  could  start  at  half -past  two  in  order 
to  be  in  the  market  at  Hayesville  long  before 
the  break  of  day,  so  as  to  sell  the  truck  at 
the  very  top  of  the  market  to  the  earliest 
greengrocers.  I  gave  Bud  coffee  and  bread 
and  butter  and  drove  the  team  down  to  the 
gate  while  he  went  ahead  to  open  it.  I  stood 
up  while  I  drove,  too,  because  Bud  had  not 
had  room  to  put  a  seat  in  for  himself  and  ex- 
pected to  stand  up  all  the  way  to  town. 
Talk  about  Mordkin  and  Pavlova!  To 
stand  up  and  drive  a  team  hitched  to  a  jolt- 
wagon  over  boulders  and  roots  requires  leg 
muscles!  I  hope  I  will  be  able  to  restrain 
myself  from  driving  the  team  into  market 
some  day,  but  I  am  not  sure  I  can.  With 
the  eggs  and  the  "truck"  Bud  brought  back 
sixteen  dollars,  eleven  of  which  were  mine. 
I  bought  a  peck  of  green  peas  for  myself 
from  myself  and  ate  most  of  them  for  dinner 
by  way  of  blowing  in  some  of  the  money. 
Then  the  chant  on  my  heartstrings  speeded 
me  up  to  white- washing  all  the  chicken  para- 

184 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

phernalia  on  the  place,  and  I  dropped  corn 
behind  Rufus'  plow  for  a  whole  day,  even  if 
it  was  to  produce  food  for  the  swine.  I  went 
to  bed  at  night  literally  on  time  with  the 
chickens.  I  could  only  stay  awake  to  kneel 
and  reach  out  the  arms  of  prayer  and  enfold 
Pan  to  my  heart  for  a  very  few  seconds  be- 
fore I  vaulted  into  the  four-poster  and  tum- 
bled into  the  depths  of  sleep. 

My  activities  were  not  in  any  way  limited 
by  the  stone  walls  that  surround  Elmnest, 
but  they  spread  over  entire  Riverfield,  which 
had  very  nearly  quit  the  pursuit  of  agricul- 
ture and  gone  madly  into  a  social  adventure. 
Everybody  was  getting  ready  for  the  trip 
into  the  capital  city  to  answer  the  governor's 
invitation,  and  clothing  of  every  color,  tex- 
ture, and  sex  was  being  manufactured  by  the 
bolt.  For  every  garment  manufactured  I 
was  sponsor. 

"I  sure  am  glad  you  have  come  down, 
Nancy,'*  said  Mrs.  Addcock,  with  almost  a 
moan;  "that  Mamie  there  won't  let  me  turn 
up  the  hem  of  her  dress  without  you,  though 

185 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

I  say  what  is  a  hem  to  a  woman  who  has  set 
in  six  pairs  of  sleeves  since  day  before  yes- 
terday!" 

"I  want  shoe-tops  and  Ma  wants  ankles,'* 
sniffed  Mamie  Addcock.  "Polly  Beesley 
wears  shoe-tops  and  she 's  seventeen  and 
goes  to  the  city  to  dance.  And  Miss  Bess* 
and  yours  are  shoe-tops,  too." 

"Now  you  see  what  it  is  to  raise  a  child 
to  be  led  into  sin  and  vanity,"  said  Mrs. 
Addcock,  looking  at  me  reproachfully  from 
her  seat  upon  the  floor  at  the  feet  of  the 
worldly  Mamie. 

"I  '11  turn  up  the  hem  just  right,  Mrs. 
Addcock,  while  you  get  the  collars  on  little 
Sammie's  and  Willie's  shirts,"  I  said  sooth- 
ingly as  I  sank  down  beside  her  at  Mamie's 
feet. 

"I  had  to  cut  Sammie's  shirt  with  a  tail  to 
tuck  in,  all  on  account  of  that  Mr.  Matthew 
Berry's  telling  him  that  shirt  and  pants 
ought  to  do  business  together.  And  there  's 
Willie's  jeans  pants  got  to  have  pockets  for 
the  knife  that  Mr.  Owen  gave  him.  I  just 

186 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

can't  keep  up  with  these  city  notions  of  my 
children  with  five  of  'em  and  a  weak  back." 
As  she  grumbled  Mrs.  Addcock  rose  slowly 
from  her  lowly  position  to  her  feet. 

"I  '11  make  Willie's  trousers,  Mrs.  Add- 
cock, this  afternoon,  if  he  '11  come  and  help 
me  feed  and  bed  everything  at  Elmnest," 
I  offered,  with  my  mouth  full  of  pins. 

"No,  child,  but  thank  you  for  your  willing 
heart.  Mrs.  Spain  told  me  how  you  made 
Ezra's  pants  so  one  leg  of  him  came  while 
the  other  went,  and  I  guess  a  mother  is  the 
only  one  to  get  the  legs  of  her  own  offspring 
to  match.  I  '11  work  it  out  myself  now  that 
Miss  Mamie  is  attended  to." 

"But  now  I  know  how  to  trouser  boys  nor- 
mally. I  turned  Joe  Tillett  out  in  perfect 
proportion  as  well  as  in  strong  jeans,"  I  an- 
swered, without  the  least  offense  at  finding 
my  first  efforts  as  a  tailor  thus  becoming  the 
subject  of  kindly  village  gossip. 

"Well,  I  hope  this  junket  will  turn  out  as 
Mary  Beesley  expects,  with  enjoyment  for 
everybody.  However,  I  'm  going  to  risk  my 

187 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

back  with  Mr.  Silas'  mules  rather  than  with 
that  Bessie  Rutherford's  wheels  that  are  not 
critter-drawn.  I  only  hope  she  don't  spill 
all  my  children,  that  I  Ve  had  such  a  time 
getting  here  on  earth,  back  into  Kingdom 
Come." 

"Would  you  rather  go  in  my  carriage  with 
Mrs.  Tillett,  and  let  me  go  with  Bess  to  hold 
in  the  children?"  I  asked  with  unconcealed 
eagerness. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  so,"  answered  Mrs. 
Addcock,  cannily.  "Sallie  Tillett  is  having 
her  dress  made  buttoned  up  in  the  back,  and 
she  has  been  in  the  habit  of  feeding  the  baby 
whenever  he  cries  for  it,  though  he  can  'most 
stand  alone.  She  is  going  to  depend  on  you 
and  a  bag  of  biscuit  to  manage  him  through 
the  show,  and  I  'd  rather  not  take  your 
place." 

"No;  perhaps  you  would  enjoy  it  more 
behind  Uncle  Silas  and  the  mules,"  I  an- 
swered cheerily,  feeling  perfectly  capable  of 
handling  Baby  Tillett  and  his  bag  of  biscuits, 

188 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

because  the  memory  of  the  times  his  little 
head  with  its  tow  fuzz  had  cuddled  down  on 
my  linen  smock,  when  I  had  carried  him  back 
and  forth  for  long  visits  in  the  barn  to  the 
Peckerwood  Pup  so  his  mother  could  have  a 
little  vacation  from  his  society,  accelerated 
the  movement  of  the  chant  on  the  cardiac  in- 
strument in  my  breast.  "He  stays  hours 
and  hours  with  me  in  a  basket  in  the  barn 
and  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  biscuits." 

"All  the  same  I  told  Sallie  I  could  make 
that  dress  by  another  pattern,  and  you  'd 
better  sit  with  him  a  good  distance  during  the 
show,"  said  Mrs.  Addcock,  as  I  finished  shoe- 
topping  Mamie  and  picked  up  my  pink-lined 
white  sunbonnet,  which  had  been  a  present 
from  Mrs.  Addcock  herself  and  was  aston- 
ishingly frilly  and  coquettish  emanating 
from  such  a  source,  and  began  to  depart. 

"I  '11  take  him  on  the  other  side  of  the 
auditorium,"  I  answered,  with  respect  for 
advice  that  I  knew  must  be  good  through 
experience. 

189 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

And  thus  that  pink  and  white,  cooing, 
obstreperously  hungry  baby  was  made  an  in- 
strument of  cruel  fate  and — 

"Come  over  and  see  the  little  cap  I  Ve 
made  Bennie  so  as  to  do  you  honor,"  called 
rosy  Mrs.  Tillett  as  I  went  down  the  street 
towards  the  grocery. 

"I  ain't  got  but  six  more  yards  of  gingham 
to  sew  up  for  the  two  littlest,"  Mrs.  Spain 
called  cheerily  as  she  looked  past  a  whirring 
sewing-machine  out  through  a  window  that 
was  wreathed  with  a  cinnamon  rose-vine  in 
full  bloom. 

"Want  any  help  ?"  I  called  from  the  gate, 
which  was  flanked  on  both  sides  by  blooming 
lilacs. 

"No;  you  go  on  down  to  the  store.  Mr. 
Silas  have  brought  out  ten  suits  of  clothes 
for  the  men  to  pick  from,  and  they  are 
a-waiting  for  your  taste.  Persuade  Joe 
Spain  to  get  that  purple  mixed.  I  do  love 
gay  colors,  and  it  '11  go  with  my  pink 
foulard." 

The  scenes  into  which  I  entered  in  the 

190 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

post-office-bank-grocery  was  comedy  in 
form,  but  serious  in  interpretation.  The 
counter  was  piled  high  with  men's  garments 
of  every  color  that  is  bestowed  upon  woolen 
cloth  in  the  dyers'  vats.  Uncle  Silas  stood 
behind  it  with  his  glasses  at  a  rampant  angle 
on  his  nose,  and  Aunt  Mary  stood  in  the  cen- 
ter of  a  shuffling,  embarrassed,  harassed 
group  of  farmers  in  overalls.  Before  her 
stood  Bud,  attired  in  a  light  gray  suit  of 
aggressively  new  clothes,  and  she  was  using 
him  hard  as  a  dummy  upon  which  to  illus- 
trate her  vigorous  and  persuasive  remarks. 

"Now,  I  am  glad  you  have  come  down, 
honeybunch,"  she  exclaimed  at  sight  of  me. 
"Here  's  a  bale  of  clothes  and  a  bale  of  men, 
and  nobody  can  seem  to  match  'em  up  suit- 
able. I  have  at  last  got  Bud  Beesley  here 
into  a  dead  match  for  his  beauty,  if  I  do  say 
it  of  my  own  son.  Just  look  at  him!"  As 
she  spoke  she  stood  off  from  him  and  folded 
her  plump  hands  across  her  wide  waist  in 
motherly  rapture. 

And  Bud,  with  his  violet  eyes  and  yellow 

191 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

shock,  was  beautiful  in  the  "custom-made," 
fifteen-dollar  gray  cheviot,  despite  his  red 
ears.  All  the  Harpeth  Valley  farmer  folk 
have  French  Cavalier,  English  gentle,  and 
Irish  good  blood  in  them,  with  mighty  little 
else  and,  as  in  the  case  of  Bud  and  Polly 
Corn-tassel,  when  clothed  in  garments  of  the 
world,  it  comes  to  the  surface  with  startling 
effect.  Bud  could  have  put  on  a  gray 
slouch  hat  with  either  a  crimson  or  an  orange 
band  and  walked  into  any  good  Eastern  col- 
lege fraternity  or  club  he  might  have 
chosen. 

"Shoo,  Mother,"  said  Bud  as  he  turned 
around  for  my  admiration,  not  surfeited  with 
that  of  his  mother. 

"I  only  hope  some  town  girl  won't  catch 
him  like  your  mother  did  William,"  said 
Aunt  Mary,  with  a  laugh  that  ended  in  a 
little  sigh  that  only  I  heard.  Somehow  I 
will  feel  psychically  akin  to  Bud  and  Polly. 

"Town  girls  are  all  movie-struck  and  don't 
want  a  man  if  a  butter-paddle  goes  along 

192 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

with  him,"  said  Bud,  with  a  laugh  that  was 
echoed  from  the  over  ailed  group. 

"Yes,  but  Miss  Nancy  here  has  outsold 
any  woman  in  Riverfield  for  cash  on  eggs 
and  chickens  before  May  first,"  said  Mr. 
Spain  as  he  picked  up  a  gray  purple  coat 
from  the  top  of  the  pile  on  the  counter. 

"She  '11  marry  and  go  away  in  a  big  car, 
too,"  said  Bud,  as  he  looked  down  and 
flecked  an  imaginary  speck  from  the  sleeve 
of  his  new  coat.  Something  in  his  voice 
made  me  determine  to  introduce  Belle  Proc- 
tor's little  sixteen-year-old  sister  to  Bud  in 
the  near  future.  The  kiddie  spends  half  her 
time  away  from  school  in  Bess's  conservatory 
with  Mr.  G.  Bird's  non-resident  family,  and 
I  think  it  will  do  her  good  to  come  out  in  the 
field  and  play  with  Bud.  She  is  frail  and 
too  slight. 

"Say,  Miss  Nancy,  what  do  you  think  of 
this  here  purple  to  set  me  off?"  asked  Mr. 
Spain,  as  he  held  up  the  garment  of  his 
wife's  desire.  "Betty  says  it  '11  match  out 

193 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

her  dimity,  and  I  'low  to  match  Betty  as  long 
as  I  can." 

"It  '11  be  the  very  thing,  Mr.  Spain,"  I 
said,  as  I  controlled  my  horror  at  the  flaring- 
colored  coat  and  reminded  myself  that  har- 
mony of  domestic  relations  is  greater  than 
any  harmony  of  art. 

"Now,  pick  your  coats  and  slip  'em  on,  all 
of  you,  so  Nancy  can  judge  you,"  com- 
manded the  general.  In  a  very  short  time 
each  man  had  got  out  of  his  overall  jumper 
and  into  his  heart's  desire. 

A  stalwart,  comely,  clean-eyed  group  of 
American  men  they  were  as  they  stood  on 
parade,  clothed  for  the  most  part  in  seemly 
raiment,  chosen  with  Uncle  Silas's  quiet 
taste,  except  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Spain,  where 
he  had  let  his  experience  of  the  past  lead  his 
taste. 

"Please,  dear  God,  don't  let  them  ever 
have  to  be  put  into  khaki,"  I  prayed  with  a 
quick  breath,  for  I  knew,  though  they  did 
not  seem  to  recognize  the  fact,  that  this 
rally  of  the  rural  districts  in  the  city  hall 

194 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

was  a  part  of  the  great  program  of  pre- 
paredness that  America  was  having  forced 
upon  her.  I  knew  that  the  speech  of  the 
governor  would  be  about  the  State  militia 
and  I  knew  that  Evan  Baldwin  would  talk 
to  them  about  the  mobilization  of  their  stocks 
and  crops.  Quick  tears  flooded  across  my 
eyes,  and  I  stretched  out  my  hands  to  them. 

"You  all  look  good  to  me,"  I  faltered  in 
some  of  Matthew's  language,  because  I 
could  n't  think  of  anything  else  to  say  but 
the  prayer  in  my  heart,  and  I  did  n't  want  to 
repeat  that  to  them. 

"Now,  you  have  all  passed  your  city  ex- 
aminations, so  you  can  get  back  to  work. 
Remember,  that  day  after  to-morrow  is  the 
junket,  and  one  day  won't  be  any  too  much 
to  bank  up  your  fires  to  run  until  you  come 
back,"  said  Aunt  Mary  in  the  way  of  dis- 
missal. 

"Talk  about  vanity  in  women  folks? 
The  first  peacock  hatched  out  was  of  the 
male  persuasion,"  she  remarked  as  we  stood 
at  the  emporium  door  and  watched  the  men 

195 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

dispersing,  their  bundles  under  their  arms, 
each  one  making  direct  for  his  own  front 
door.  "Every  woman  in  Riverfield  will 
have  to  put  down  needle  and  fry-pan  and 
butter-paddle  to  feed  them  so  plum  full  of 
compliments  that  they  '11  strut  for  a  week. 
Bless  my  heart,  honeybunch,  we  have  all  got 
to  turn  around  twice  in  each  track  to  get 
ready,  and  as  I  'm  pretty  hefty  I  must  begin 
right  now."  With  this  remark,  Aunt  Mary 
departed  from  the  back  door  to  her  house 
on  the  hill  and  sent  me  out  the  front  to 
Elrnnest  opposite. 

"I  thought  that  there  was  some  reason  why 
Pan  and  I  both  chose  to  wear  Roycroft 
clothes.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spain  are  in  love 
after  eight  children,"  I  remarked  to  myself 
happily.  "I  am  in  agony  in  any  shoes  Pan 
does  n't  make.  I  wonder  if  any  woman  ever 
before  was  as  much  in  love  with  a  man  about 
whom  she  knew  so  little — and  so  much  as  I 
do  about  Adam." 

"I  don't  want  to  know  about  him — I  want 
to  love  him,"  I  answered  myself  as  I  walked 

196 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

up  the  long  elm  avenue.  Afterwards  I  re- 
called those  words  to  myself,  and  they  were 
bitter  instead  of  sweet. 


197 


CHAPTER  X 

TjlRIDAY,  the  twenty-first  of  April,  I 
-T  shall  always  remember  as  the  busiest 
day  of  my  life,  for,  as  Aunt  Mary  had  said, 
it  takes  time  to  bank  fires  enough  to  keep  a 
farm  alive  a  whole  half  day  even  if  it  is  not 
running.  I  did  all  my  usual  work  with  my 
small  folk,  and  then  I  measured  and  poured 
out  in  different  receptacles  their  existence 
for  the  last  half  of  the  next  day.  After 
breakfast  on  Saturday  I  finally  decided 
upon  Uncle  Cradd  as  the  most  trustworthy 
person  of  the  three  ancients,  one  of  whom  I 
was  obliged  to  depend  upon  for  substitution. 
Rufus,  I  felt  sure,  would  compromise  by 
feeding  every  ration  to  the  hogs,  and  I  knew 
that  he  could  persuade  father  to  do  likewise, 
but  Uncle  Cradd,  I  felt,  would  bring  moral 
force  to  bear  upon  the  situation. 

"Now,  Uncle  Cradd,  here  are  all  the  dif- 

198 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ferent  feeds  in  different  buckets,  each  plainly 
marked  with  the  time  to  give  it.  Please,  oh, 
please,  don't  let  father  lead  you  off  into 
Egypt  or  China  and  forget  them,"  I  said  as 
I  led  him  to  the  barn  and  showed  him  the 
mobilization  of  buckets  that  I  had  shut  up 
in  one  of  the  empty  bins. 

"Why  not  just  empty  it  all  out  on  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  barn,  Nancy,  my  dear, 
and  let  them  all  feed  together  in  friendly 
fashion.  I  am  afraid  you  take  these  pretty 
whims  of  yours  too  seriously,"  he  said  as  he 
beamed  affectionately  at  me  over  his  large 
glasses. 

"Because  Peckerwood  Pup  would  eat  up 
the  Leghorn  babies,  and  it  would  be  exter- 
mination to  some  and  survival  to  the  most 
unfit,"  I  answered  in  despair.  "Oh,  won't 
you  please  do  it  by  the  directions?" 

"I  will,  my  child,  I  will,"  answered  Uncle 
Cradd,  as  he  saw  that  I  was  about  to  become 
tearful.  "I  will  come  and  sit  right  here  in 
the  barn  with  my  book. 

"Oh,  if  you  only  will,  Uncle  Cradd,  they 

199 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

will  remind  you  when  they  are  hungry.  Mr. 
G.  Bird  will  come  and  peck  at  you  when  it  is 
time  to  feed  his  family,  and  the  lambs  and 
Mrs.  Ewe  will  lick  you,  and  Peckerwood 
Pup  will  chew  you,  so  you  can't  forget 
them,"  I  exclaimed  in  relief. 

"That  will  be  the  exact  plan  for  action, 
Nancy.  You  can  always  depend  upon  me 
for  any  of  the  small  attentions  that  please 
you,  my  dear." 

"I  can  depend  on  the  fur  and  feathers  and 
wool  tribes  better  than  I  can  on  you,  old 
dear,"  I  said  to  myself,  while  I  beamed  on 
him  with  a  dutiful,  "Thank  you,  sir." 

Then  as  Bud  Corn-tassel  had  arrived  to 
begin  to  hitch  up  the  moth-eaten  steeds  to 
the  ark,  I  ascended  to  my  room  to  shed  my 
farmer  smocks,  for  the  first  time  since  my  in- 
carnation into  them,  and  attire  myself  for 
the  world  again.  The  only  garb  of  fashion 
I  possessed,  having  sold  myself  out  com- 
pletely on  my  retirement,  was  the  very 
stylish,  dull-blue  tailor  suit  in  which  I  had 
traveled  out  the  Riverfield  ribbon  almost 

200 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

three  months  before.  But  as  that  had  been 
mid-February,  it  was  of  spring  manufac- 
ture, and  I  supposed  would  still  be  able  to 
hold  its  own. 

"It 's  perfectly  beautiful,  but  it  feels  tight 
and  hampering,"  I  said  as  I  descended  to 
enter  the  coach  Bud  had  driven  around  to 
the  front  door. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  guarantee  that  you 
aren't  just  a  dream  lady  I  '11  lose  again  in 
the  city,  Miss  Nancy?"  asked  Bud,  as  he 
handed  me  into  the  Grandmother  Crad- 
dock  coach  with  great  ceremony.  Gale 
Beacon  couldn't  have  done  any  better  on 
such  short  notice. 

"I  '11  be  in  smocks  at  feeding- time  in  the 
morning,  Bud,  just  as  you  will  be  in  over- 
alls," I  answered  laughingly. 

"My,  but  you  are  a  sight!"  said  Mrs.  Til- 
lett,  as  she  handed  up  Baby  Tillett  to  me, 
with  such  a  beaming  countenance  that  I 
knew  she  meant  a  complimentary  construc- 
tion to  be  placed  upon  her  words.  "Now, 
just  take  up  them  little  girls  and  set  'em 
201 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

down  easy,  Mr.  Bud,  on  account  of  their  ruf- 
fles, and  ram  the  boys  in  between  to  hold 
'em  steady.  Now,  boys,  if  you  muss  up  the 
girls  I  '11  make  every  one  of  you  wear  your 
shoes  all  day  to-morrow  to  teach  you  man- 
ners. Go  on,  Mr.  Bud." 

Thus  nicely  packed  away,  we  started  on 
down  the  Riverfield  ribbon  at  the  head  of  the 
procession,  followed  by  Uncle  Silas  driving 
Aunt  Mary's  rockaway,  with  his  beautiful, 
dappled,  shining,  gray  mules  hitched  to  it, 
and  beside  him  sat  Mrs.  Addcock  in  serene 
confidence  in  being  driven  by  a  man  who 
could  drive  a  bank  and  a  post-office  and  a 
grocery.  Mamie  and  Gertie  Spain  were 
spread  out  carefully  on  the  back  seat,  with 
only  one  small  masculine  Spain  for  a  wedge. 
The  Buford  buggy,  all  spick  and  span  from 
its  first  spring  washing  and  polishing,  came 
next,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Buford  cuddling 
together  on  the  narrow  seat.  They  were  a 
bride  and  groom  of  very  little  over  a  year's 
standing,  and  the  blue-blanketed  bundle  that 
the  bride  carried  in  her  arms  was  no  reason, 

202 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

in  Mr.  Buf  ord's  mind,  why  he  should  n't  drive 
with  one  hand  while  he  held  a  steadying  and 
affectionate  arm  around  them  both.  Buf  or  d 
Junior  was  less  than  a  month  old,  but  why 
shouldn't  he  begin  to  adventure  out  in  the 
big  world?  Parson  and  Mrs.  Henderson 
came  next,  he  with  snow-white  flowing 
beard,  and  she,  beside  him,  in  a  gray  bonnet 
with  a  pink  rose,  while  beside  her  sat  his 
mother,  Granny  Henderson,  now  past 
eighty,  but  with  a  purple  pansy  nestled  in 
her  waterwaves. 

Others  followed,  and  the  remainder 
waited  on  the  steps  of  the  emporium,  with 
Aunt  Mary  and  Polly,  for  Matthew  and 
Bess  to  come  for  them.  It  was  hard  for 
them  to  realize  that  the  powerful  engines  in 
both  cars  would  take  them  into  town  in  little 
over  an  hour,  when  the  journey  as  they  be- 
fore had  made  it  had  always  consumed  six, 
and  they  were  becoming  impatient  even  be- 
fore we  left.  So  when  we  met  Bess  and 
Matthew  half  an  hour  later  down  the  River- 
field  ribbon,  I  hurried  them  back.  I  after- 

203 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

wards  learned  that  they  had  had  to  persuade 
Mrs.  Spain  to  reclothe  herself  in  the  pink 
foulard,  because  she  had  decided  that  they 
were  not  coming  and  had  gone  back  to 
work. 

In  reality  I  did  n't  draw  a  perfectly  free 
breath  until  I  saw  the  entire  population  of 
Riverfield  seated  in  advantageous  seats  on 
the  middle  aisle  in  the  town  hall  at  six- 
thirty,  and  beginning  to  get  out  their  lunch- 
baskets  to  feed  themselves  and  the  kiddies 
before  the  opening  of  the  convocation  at 
eight  o'clock. 

According  to  the  advice  of  Mrs.  Add- 
cock  and  Mrs.  Tillett  herself,  I  had  taken  a 
stuffed  egg,  a  chicken  wing,  and  a  slice  of 
jelly-cake  for  my  own  supper,  along  with 
Baby  Tillett's  bag  of  hard  biscuits,  over  on  a 
side  aisle,  and  from  that  vantage-point  I 
could  see  the  whole  party. 

"They  are  lovely — the  loveliest  of  all, 
mine  are,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  surveyed 
them  proudly  and  compared  them  with  other 

204 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

lunching  delegations,  which  I  knew  to  be 
from  Providence  and  Hillsboro  and  Clover- 
bend. 

Baby  Tillett  crowed  a  proud  assent  as  he 
stuck  a  biscuit  in  his  mouth  and  looked  at 
the  lights  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  I 
took  off  his  new  cap  with  its  two  blue  bows 
over  the  ears,  unbuttoned  his  little  pique 
coat,  which  I  had  almost  entirely  built  my- 
self, and  which  was  of  excellent  cut,  and 
settled  down  to  dine  with  him  in  content- 
ment. 

Then  it  happened  that  I  was  so  weary 
from  the  day  of  excitement  that  I  had  hardly 
finished  my  supper  before  I  snuggled  Baby 
Tillett  closer  in  my  arms,  as  I  felt  him 
grow  limp  very  suddenly,  and  with  him  I 
drifted  off  into  a  nap.  I  was  sitting  in  a 
corner  seat,  but  I  don't  yet  see  how  I  slept 
as  I  did  and  cuddled  him  too  unless  it  was 
just  the  force  of  natural  maternal  gravita- 
tion that  held  my  arms  firmly  around  him, 
but  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  opened  my  eyes 

205 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

on  the  whole  hall  full  of  people,  who  were 
wildly  applauding  the  governor  as  he 
stepped  forward  on  the  platform.  Hur- 
riedly straightening  my  drooping  head  and 
looking  guiltily  around  to  see  if  I  had  been 
caught  napping,  I  discovered  Matthew 
Berry  at  my  side  in  a  broad  chuckle,  and  I 
immediately  suspected  his  stalwart  right  arm 
of  being  that  force  of  gravitation. 

"He  's  dead  to  the  world ;  let  him  lie  across 
your  knees  and  listen  to  the  governor's 
heroics  of  introduction  to  Baldwin,"  said 
Matthew  as  he  settled  the  limp  baby  across 
my  lap  with  his  bobbing  head  on  my  arm. 
And  he  adjusted  his  own  arm  less  con- 
spicuously along  the  seat  at  my  back. 

"I  was  up  at  four,"  I  whispered,  as  the 
applause  died  away  and  the  governor  began 
to  speak. 

The  Governor  of  the  State  of  Harpeth  is 
a  good  and  substantial  man,  who  was  him- 
self born  out  on  Paradise  Ridge,  and  he  had 
called  in  all  of  his  people  from  their  fields  to 
talk  to  them  about  a  problem  so  serious  that 

206 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  world  of  men,  who  had  hitherto  con- 
sidered themselves  as  competent  to  guide  the 
great  national  ship  of  state  through  peaceful 
waters,  had  been  impelled  to  turn  and  call 
to  council  the  men  from  the  plows  and 
reapers,  to  add  their  wisdom  in  deciding  the 
best  methods  of  safeguarding  the  nation. 
His  speech  was  a  thoughtful  presentation  of 
the  different  methods  of  preparedness  which 
the  whole  of  America  was  weighing  in  the 
balance.  He  explained  the  army  policy,  the 
Congressional  policy,  and  then  that  of  the 
State  guard,  and  he  asked  them  to  weigh  the 
facts  well  so  that  if  it  should  come  to  the  vote 
of  the  people  of  the  nation,  they  would  vote 
with  instructed  wisdom. 

There  was  a  strained  gravity  on  all  the 
listening  faces,  and  I  could  see  some  of  the 
women  in  the  groups  of  farmer  folk  draw 
nearer  against  the  shoulders  of  the  men,  who 
all  sat  with  their  arms  along  the  back  of  the 
seats  as  Matthew  sat  beside  me.  Young 
Mrs.  Buford  held  the  precious,  limp,  blue 
bundle  much  closer  in  her  arms,  and  hid  her 

207 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

head  on  the  broad  shoulder  next  her  own, 
but  on  Mrs.  Spain's  comely  face  I  saw  a 
light  beginning  to  dawn  as  she  proudly  sur- 
veyed the  four  sturdy  sons  with  shining  faces 
who  flanked  her  and  Mr.  Spain. 

"And  now,"  said  the  governor,  "I  have 
asked  you  here  to-night  to  introduce  formally 
to  you  one  of  the  great  sons  of  Old  Har- 
peth,  who  has  come  back  from  the  world, 
with  his  wealth  and  honors  and  wisdom  and 
science,  into  his  own  valley,  to  show  us  how 
to  make  the  plowshare  support  the  machine- 
gun  with  such  power  that  the  world  will  re- 
spect its  silence  more  than  any  explosion.  A 
year  or  more  ago  he  came  home  and  asked 
me  for  his  commission,  and  since  then  he  has 
lived  among  you  so  as  to  become  your 
friend,  in  hopes  that  he  might  be  your  chosen 
leader  in  this  food  mobilization.  Gentle- 
men and  ladies  of  the  Harpeth  Valley,  I 
present  to  you  Mr.  Evan  Baldwin,  who  will 
speak  to  you  to-night  on  the  'Plowshare  and 
the  Machine-gun.'  Friends,  Evan  Adam 
Baldwin." 

208 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

For  a  second  there  was  expectant  silence, 
and  then  from  the  back  of  the  platform  from 
behind  a  group  of  State  officials  stepped — 
my  Pan! 

For  a  long  second  the  whole  hall  full  of 
people  held  their  breath  in  a  tense  uncer- 
tainty, because  it  was  hard  to  believe  in  the 
broadcloth  and  fine  linen  in  which  he  was 
clothed,  but  the  brilliant  hair,  the  ruffling 
crests,  and  the  mocking,  eery  smile  made 
them  all  certain  by  the  second  breath,  which 
they  gave  forth  in  one  long  masculine  hurrah 
mingled  with  a  feminine  echo  of  delight. 
For  several  long  minutes  it  would  not  be 
stilled  as  he  stood  and  smiled  down  on  them 
all  and  mocked  them  with  his  laugh  mingling 
with  theirs. 

Finally  Aunt  Mary,  the  general,  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  and  forgetful  of  her  Saint 
Paul,  she  arose  with  all  the  dignity  of  her  two 
hundred  pounds  and  raised  her  hand. 

"All  be  still,  neighbors,  and  let  Adam  tell 
us  the  same  things  he  's  been  saying  for  these 
many  months,  and  then  we  '11  let  him  shuck 

209 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

his  fine  clothes  and  come  on  home  in  my 
rockaway  with  us/' 

"No,  with  us!"  fairly  yelled  Cloverbend 
in  unison  of  protest  with  Providence. 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Mary,"  said  Pan  in  the 
fluty  tenderness  with  which  he  had  always 
addressed  her.  "The  governor  does  n't 
know  it,  but  I  can't  make  a  speech  to  you 
to-night.  I  am  going  to  catch  that  ten 
o'clock  train  for  Argentina,  to  get  some 
wheat  secrets  for  all  of  us,  and  I  want  all 
of  you  to  begin  right  away  to  plow  good  and 
deep  so  you  '11  be  ready  for  me  when  I  get 
back  in  a  few  months.  We  '11  have  to  inocu- 
late the  land  before  we  sow.  Only  here  are 
just  one  or  two  things  I  will  say  to  you 
before  I  have  to  start." 

For  about  ten  minutes  Adam  stood  there 
before  those  farmer  folk  and,  with  his  fluty 
voice  and  the  fire  glow  in  his  eyes,  led  them 
up  upon  a  high  mountain  of  imagination  and 
showed  them  the  distant  land  into  which  he 
could  lead  them,  which,  when  they  arrived, 
they  would  find  to  be  their  own. 

210 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

The  baby  on  my  lap  stirred,  and  I  lifted 
him  against  my  throbbing  breast  as  I  listened 
to  this  gospel  of  a  new  earth,  which  might 
be  made  into  the  outposts  of  a  new  Heaven, 
in  which  man  would  nourish  his  weaker 
brother  into  a  strength  equal  to  his  own,  so 
that  no  man  or  nation  would  have  to  fight  for 
existence  or  a  place  in  the  sun.  Then  while 
we  all  sat  breathless  from  his  magic,  Pan 
vanished  and  left  us  to  be  sent  home  rejoic- 
ing by  the  governor. 

Sent  home  rejoicing?  Suddenly  I  real- 
ized that  when  Evan  Adam  Baldwin  had 
gone,  my  Pan  had  also  vanished  without  a 
word  to  me.  What  did  it  mean?  His  eyes 
had  n't  found  me  sitting  apart  from  my  dele- 
gation with  another  woman's  baby  in  my 
arms.  Would  there  be  a  word  for  me  in  the 
morning? 

"In  Baldwin  emerges  the  new  American," 
said  Matthew,  with  a  light  in  his  face  I  had 
never  seen  before,  as  we  all  rose  to  go. 

"Do  you  blame  every  woman  in  the  world 
for  being  mad  about  him  when  you  saw  that 

211 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

look  in  his  eyes  when  he  held  out  his  hands 
and  chanted  that  food  plea  to  us  ?  I  'm  glad 
he  does  n't  beckon  to  me,  or  I  am  afraid 
Owen  Murray  and  Madam  Felicia  would  be 
disappointed  about  that  June  decision  of 
mine,"  said  Bess  as  she  and  Owen  helped 
Bud  pack  the  Tilletts  and  me  into  the  ark 
for  our  return  trip. 

"Will  there  be  word  for  me  in  the  morn- 
ing?" the  old  wheels  rattled  all  the  way  out 
the  Riverfield  ribbon,  and  I  thought  an  old 
owl  hooted  the  question  at  me  from  a  dead 
tree  beside  the  road,  while  I  felt  also  that  a 
mocking-bird  sang  it  from  a  thicket  of  dog- 
wood in  ghostly  bloom  opposite.  "Will 
there  be  word  in  the  morning?" 

The  next  morning  I  awoke  with  the  same 
question  making  a  new  motive  in  the  chant 
on  my  heartstrings. 

"Uncle  Cradd  will  bring  his  letter  when  he 
comes  back  from  the  post-office,  and  I  know 
he  '11  send  a  message  to  you,  Mr.  G.  Bird," 
I  said  happily,  as  I  watered  and  fed  and 
caressed  and  joyed  in  the  entire  barn  family. 

212 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  hate  him  for  being  what  he  is  and  treating 
me  this  way,  but  I  love  him  still  more,"  I 
confided  to  Mrs.  Ewe  as  I  gave  her  an  extra 
handful  of  wheat  out  of  the  blouse-pocket 
which  I  kept  filled  for  Mr.  G.  Bird  from 
pure  partiality. 

Uncle  Cradd  did  not  bring  a  letter  from 
the  post-office  for  me.  The  blow  in  the 
apple  orchard  and  the  purple  plumes  on  the 
lilac  bushes  looked  less  brilliant  in  hue,  but 
the  tune  on  my  heartstrings  kept  up  a  note 
of  pure  bravado.  I  weeded  the  garden  all 
afternoon,  but  stopped  early,  fed  early,  and 
went  up-stairs  to  my  room  before  the  last 
sunset  glow  had  faded  off  the  dormer  win- 
dows. Opening  my  old  mahogany  chest,  I 
took  out  a  bundle  I  had  made  up  the  day 
after  the  advent  of  Mother  Cow  and  the  calf, 
spread  it  out  on  the  bed,  and  looked  it  over. 

In  it  was  an  incredible  amount  of  lingerie, 
made  of  crepe  de  chine  and  lace,  folded 
tightly  and  tied  with  a  ribbon  into  a  package 
not  over  a  foot  square.  A  comb  and  a  brush 
of  old  ivory,  which  had  set  in  its  back  a  small 

213 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

mirror  held  in  by  a  silver  band,  which  father 
had  purchased  in  Florence  for  me  under  a 
museum  guaranty  as  a  genuine  Cellini  work 
of  art,  were  wrapped  in  a  silk  case,  and  a 
toothbrush  and  soap  had  occupied  their  re- 
spective oil-silk  cases  along  with  a  tube  of 
tooth  paste  and  one  of  cold  cream.  Two 
pairs  of  soft,  but  strong,  tan  cotton  stockings 
were  tucked  underneath  the  ribbon  confining 
the  lingerie,  and  a  small  prayer-book  with 
both  mine  and  my  mother's  name  in  it  com- 
pleted the — I  had  n't  exactly  liked  to  call  it 
a  trousseau.  It  was  all  tied  up  in  one  of 
Adam's  Romney  handkerchiefs,  which  he 
had  washed  out  one  day  in  the  spring  branch 
and  left  hanging  on  a  hickory  sapling  to  dry, 
and  which  I  had  appropriated  because  I 
loved  its  riot  of  faded  colors. 

"It  is  just  about  the  size  of  his,"  I  had  said 
to  myself  as  I  had  tied  up  its  corners  that 
day  after  my  love  adventure  in  the  orchard 
under  the  chaperonage  of  Mother  Cow,  and 
I  had  laughed  as  I  imagined  Pan's  face 
when  he  discovered  that  I  had  been  so  en- 

214 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

tirely  unfemininely  subservient  to  his  com- 
mand about  light  traveling.  Suddenly  I 
swept  the  bundle  together  and  back  in  the 
chest,  while  a  note  of  genuine  fear  swept 
into  the  song  in  my  heart. 

"He  '11  write  from  New  Orleans — he 
does  n't  sail  until  to-morrow,"  I  whispered 
as  I  quieted  the  discord  and  went  down  to 
prayers. 

...  "I  shall  not  want. 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in 
green  pastures :  he  leadeth  me  be- 
side the  still  waters. 

He  restoreth  my  soul:" 

intoned  Uncle  Cradd,  and  somehow  the 
tumult  in  my  heart  was  stilled  for  the  night, 
and  I  could  as  usual  take  Pan  into  my 
prayer  arms  and  ask  God  to  keep  him  safe. 
I  wonder  how  many  women  would  really 
pray  if  there  were  n't  men  in  the  world  to 
furnish  them  the  theme ! 

Also  I  wonder  how  it  is  possible  for  me  to 
write  about  that  following  first  week  of  May 
when  I  had  to  feel  the  chant  die  out  of  my 

215 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

heart  and  still  live  and  help  a  lot  of  other 
live  creatures,  both  people  and  animals,  to  go 
on  breathing  also. 

Each  day  Uncle  Cradd  failed  to  bring  me 
a  letter  from  the  post-office,  and  after  a  week 
I  ceased  to  look  for  one.  I  knew  that  Evan 
Adam  Baldwin  was  on  the  high  seas  and 
that  if  he  had  not  written  before  he  sailed 
he  never  intended  to  write.  My  common 
sense  kindly  and  plainly  spoke  this  truth  to 
my  aching  heart :  Pan  had  been  simply  hav- 
ing a  word  adventure  with  me  in  character. 


216 


CHAPTER  XI 

HE  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century 
A  has  witnessed  many  startling  inven- 
tions, reforms,  evolutions,  and  revolutions, 
but  mankind  generally  is  not  aware  that  the 
most  remarkable  result  of  many  combined 
new  forces  is  a  woman  whose  intellect  can 
go  on  functioning  at  the  same  time  that  her 
heart  is  aching  with  either  requited  or  unre- 
quited love.  Just  ten  days  after  I  had  been 
jilted,  instead  of  lying  in  a  darkened  room 
in  hysterics,  I  went  into  a  light  corner  of  the 
barn,  sat  down  on  an  upturned  seed-bucket, 
took  my  farm-book  on  my  knee,  wet  my  pen- 
cil between  my  lips,  and  began  to  figure  up 
the  account  between  Evan  Adam  Baldwin 
and  myself.  First,  I  sat  still  for  a  long  sec- 
ond and  tried  to  set  a  price  on  myself  the 
hour  before  I  had  first  encountered  him  out 
on  the  Riverfield  ribbon  on  the  day  I  had 

217 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

made  my  entry  into  rural  life.  And  think 
as  hard  as  I  could  I  couldn't  think  up  a 
single  thing  I  had  done  worth  while  to  my 
race ;  so  I  had  to  write  a  great  cipher  against 
myself.  Then  in  another  column  I  set  down 
the  word  "assets,"  and  after  it  I  wrote, 
"The  Golden  Bird  and  family,  eight  hundred 
dollars."  Then  I  thought  intently  back 
into  the  past  and  into  the  haircloth  trunk 
and  wrote,  "Clothes,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars." 

Then  I  sat  for  another  long  time  and 
looked  out  the  door  to  the  Paradise  Ridge 
across  the  Harpeth  Valley,  after  which  I 
smoothed  the  page,  dated  it,  and  again  began 
to  take  stock  of  myself  and  the  business.  I 
listed  the  original  investment  of  Mr.  G.  Bird 
and  the  ladies  Leghorn,  one  of  which  was  at 
that  moment  picking  wheat  from  my  pocket, 
on  through  their  fifty  progeny,  for  which  I 
had  established  a  price  of  twenty  dollars  per 
head,  through  the  two  lambkins  I  had  bought 
from  Ruf us  for  ten  dollars,  Mother  Cow  and 
the  calf,  the  hundred  and  fifty  pearls  in  the 

218 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

incubators,  half  of  which  I  had  sold  to  Owen 
and  Bess  and  ten  of  which  I  had  sold  to  a 
real  chicken  dealer  who  knew  Mr.  G.  Bird's 
pedigree  and  had  come  all  the  way  from 
Georgia  to  buy  them.  The  whole  inventory, 
including  the  wheat  I  had  paid  Matthew  for 
and  the  improvements  I  had  made  on  the 
barn,  or  rather  Adam  had  made,  also  includ- 
ing the  prospects  in  the  garden,  amounted  to 
eighteen  hundred  dollars.  Then  I  thought 
still  longer  and  finally  after  my  own  name 
wrote  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars'  worth 
of  "education."  The  total  was  nineteen 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  thus  making  a 
profit  on  my  investments  of  about  eight  hun- 
dred dollars.  After  this  calculation  I  sat 
and  chewed  the  pencil  a  long  time,  then 
turned  a  fresh  page,  wrote,  "Evan  Adam 
Baldwin,"  on  the  one  side,  "Profit"  in  the 
middle,  and  a  large  cipher  opposite. 

Then  I  closed  the  book  forever  with  such 
decision  that  the  Leghorn  lady  and  Mrs. 
Ewe,  who  was  helping  her  explore  me,  both 
jumped,  and  I  rose  to  my  feet. 

219 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  got  eight  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  out 
of  the  deal,  and  Evan  Adam  Baldwin  only 
got  a  few  mediocre  and  amateur  kisses, 
which  he  shared  with  me,  for  all  his  hard 
labor  in  plowing  and  tilling  and  restoring 
Elmnest  and  me  to  the  point  of  being  of 
value  in  the  scheme  of  things.  I  got  the 
best  of  that  deal  and  why  should  I  sulk?"  I 
said  to  myself  in  a  firm  and  even  tone  of 
voice.  I  did  n't. 

If  I  had  worked  like  a  couple  of  women 
when  speeded  up  by  a  weird  chant  on  my 
heartstrings,  which  I  now  recognized  was 
just  a  part  of  the  system  used  in  my  reorgan- 
ization, I  worked  like  five  when  my  heart 
became  perfectly  dead  and  silent.  I  got  out 
of  my  bed  the  very  minute  that  the  first 
gleam  of  consciousness  came  into  my  mind, 
before  I  could  have  a  second  to  think  about 
anything  unprofitable,  plunged  into  the  old 
brass-bound  cedar  tub  of  cold  water,  which 
I  had  carried  up  from  the  spring  in  a  bucket 
that  matched  it  the  night  before,  got  into 
my  corduroys  and  smock,  and  was  out  in  the 

220 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

barn  and  at  work  before  it  would  seem  pos- 
sible for  a  woman  to  more  than  open  her 
eyes  of  understanding  upon  the  world.  All 
day  long  I  weeded  and  hoed  and  harvested 
and  fed  and  cleaned  and  marketed  that  farm 
until  I  fell  dead  between  the  posts  of  the  old 
bed  at  night. 

I  did  n't  pray.  I  knew  God  would  un- 
derstand. 

And  through  it  all  there  was  Matthew! 
The  first  week  or  two  he  remonstrated  with 
me;  then  when  he  saw  that  I  was  possessed 
by  the  demon  of  work  he  just  rolled  up  his 
sleeves,  collected  Polly  and  Bud,  and  helped. 
He  promoted  his  best  clerk  in  the  office  to  a 
junior  partnership,  refused  several  impor- 
tant cases,  bought  the  hundred-acre  forest 
which  joins  Elmnest,  which  Aunt  Mary  had 
had  in  her  family  for  generations,  and  which 
had  been  considered  as  waste  land  after  the 
cedars  had  been  cut  off,  and  began  to  restore 
it.  He  never  bothered  me  once  in  a  senti- 
mental way,  and  when  he  brought  the  plans 
of  his  house  over  on  the  knoll  opposite  Elm- 

221 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

nest,  Polly  helped  me  enthuse  and  criticize 
them,  and  he  went  away  seemingly  content. 
His  and  Polly's  Rhode  Island  Reds  were 
rivaling  my  Leghorns  in  productiveness,  and 
all  of  Riverfield  seemed  to  have  gone  chicken 
mad.  Mr.  Spain  traded  a  prize  hog  for  a 
cock,  and  twelve  black  Minorca  hens,  and 
Mr.  Buford  brought  the  bride  two  settings 
of  gray  "Rocks"  to  start  a  college  education 
for  the  bundle. 

"Do  you  know  what  the  whole  kit  and  bil- 
ing  is  so  busy  about?"  said  Aunt  Mary  as 
she  surveyed  with  pride  a  new  hen-house 
that  Bud  had  just  finished,  in  which  I  saw 
the  trap  nests  over  which  she  had  disputed 
with  the  commissioner  of  agriculture. 
"They  were  just  woke  up  by  that  speech  of 
Adam's,  and  they  are  getting  ready  to  show 
him  what  Riverfield  can  do  when  he  gets 
back.  When  did  you  say  you  expect  him, 
honey  bunch?" 

"I  don't,"  I  answered  quietly. 

"Why,  I  thought  Silas  said  you  did,"  she 

£22 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

answered  absent-mindedly.  "Now,  you  can 
have  Bud,  but  not  for  keeps,  because  as  I 
borned  him  I  think  I  am  entitled  to  work 
him."  We  all  laughed  as  Bud  and  I  betook 
ourselves  and  a  large  farm-basket  full  of  late 
cabbage  plants  across  to  Elmnest. 

"Miss  Ann,  please  ma'am,  make  mother 
let  me  go  to  town  to-night  with  Mr.  Matthew 
and  stay  with  Miss  Bess.  All  her  linen 
chest  has  come,  and  I  want  to  see  it,"  Polly 
Corn-tassel  waylaid  us  and  pleaded.  I  went 
back  and  laid  the  case  before  her  mother. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  won't  hurt  her  if  all 
this  marriage  and  giving  in  marriage  don't 
get  into  her  head.  I  aim  to  keep  and  work 
her  at  least  two  years  longer  to  pay  my 
trouble  with  her  teething  back,"  agreed  Aunt 
Mary.  "When  did  you  say  the  wedding  was 
going  to  be?" 

"June  tenth,"  I  answered. 

"I  heard  that  Mr.  Owen  Murray  talking 
to  Mr.  Spain  about  his  wooded  piece  of  land 
over  by  the  big  spring  the  other  night. 

223 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Looks  like  you  are  a  pot  of  honey,  sure 
enough,  child,  that  draws  all  your  friends 
to  settle  around  you." 

"No,  it 's  the  back-to-the-land  vogue,  and 
this  is  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  Har- 
peth  Valley,"  I  answered  as  I  again  be- 
gan to  depart  with  Bud  and  the  cabbage 
plants. 

"Adam  told  me  one  night  that  he  was 
going  to  prove  that  the  Garden  of  Eden 
was  located  right  here.  It  was  when  your 
locusts  were  in  full  bloom  and  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  run  down  Eve  anywhere.  Are  you 
sure  you  don't  know  when  he  '11  come  back  to 
see  us  all?"  Aunt  Mary's  blue  eyes  danced 
with  merriment. 

"No,"  I  answered,  and  went  hastily  back 
to  Bud  and  left  her  muttering  to  herself, 
"Well,  Silas  did  say—" 

All  afternoon  I  stolidly  planted  the  gray- 
green  young  cabbage  sprouts  behind  Bud's 
hoe  and  refused  even  to  think  about  Bess's 
wedding-chest.  But  at  sunset  I  saw  I  must 
go  into  town  to  her  dinner  for  the  announce- 

224 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

ment  of  her  wedding,  and  wear  one  of  my 
dresses  that  I  had  sold  and  then  borrowed 
back  from  her — or  have  a  serious  crisis  in  our 
friendship.  I  had  n't  strength  for  that,  and 
I  had  hoped  that  the  fun  of  it  all  would  make 
noise  enough  to  wake  some  kind  of  echo  in 
my  very  silent  interior,  but  it  did  n't,  though 
there  was  a  positive  uproar  when  Owen 
brought  the  whole  Bird  collateral  family, 
who  now  have  wings  and  tails  and  pin 
feathers,  into  the  dining-room  and  put  them 
in  the  rose  bed  in  the  middle  of  the  table  so 
as  to  hear  his  oratorical  effort  as  expectant 
bridegroom. 

"Why  is  it,  Matt,  that  you  have  heart 
enough  to  drive  me  like  mad  out  here  in 
the  dark  and  not  make  me  say  a  word?"  I 
asked  him  as  he  brought  me  home  in  the 
after-midnight  hush. 

"You've  trained  my  heart  into  silence, 
Ann,"  he  answered  gently. 

"No!"  I  exclaimed,  for  I  couldn't  bear 
the  thought  of  Matthew's  big  heart  being 
silent  too.  Just  then  Polly,  who  had  gone 

225 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

to  sleep  on  the  back  seat,  fell  off  and  had  to 
be  rescued.  We  put  her  out  at  home  in  a 
wilted  condition  from  pure  good  times,  and 
then  Matthew  took  me  on  up  to  Elmnest. 
An  old  moon  was  making  the  world  look  as 
if  mostly  composed  of  black  shadows,  and 
Matthew  walked  at  my  side  out  to  the  barn 
to  see  if  all  was  quiet  and  well. 

"Why,  what 's  the  matter?"  I  exclaimed 
as  I  ran  to  the  side  of  the  shed  in  which  Mrs. 
Ewe  and  the  lambs  resided.  "Strike  your 
cigar-lighter  quick,  Matt." 

As  Matthew  shed  a  tiny  light  from  a  sil- 
ver tube  upon  the  situation,  I  sank  to  my 
knees  with  a  cry.  There  upon  the  grass  lay 
one  of  my  lambkins,  and  red  blood  was  ooz- 
ing from  its  woolly  white  throat.  As  I 
lifted  it  on  my  arm,  its  little  body  gave  a 
shudder  and  then  lay  so  still  that  I  knew  it 
was  dead.  Mother  Ewe  stood  near  in  the 
shadow  and  gave  a  plaintive  bleat  as  she  came 
to  my  side. 

"Oh,"  I  sobbed  as  I  looked  up  at  Mat- 
thew, "it 's  dead.  What  did  it?" 

226 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"A  dog,"  answered  Matthew,  as  he  knelt 
beside  me  and  laid  the  tiny  dead  lamb  back 
on  the  ground. 

"Not  Peckerwood  Pup !"  I  exclaimed. 

"No,  she  's  too  young;  some  stray,"  an- 
swered Matthew  as  he  look  savagely  around 
into  the  shadows. 

"It 's  the  littlest  one,  and  she  licked  my 
hand  the  last  thing  before  I  left.  I  can't 
bear  it  all,  Matthew — this  is  too  much  for 
me,"  I  said,  and  I  sobbed  into  my  hands  as  I 
sank  down  into  a  heap  against  the  side  of  the 
bereaved  sheep  mother,  who  was  still  utter- 
ing her  plaintive  moans  of  question. 

I  say  now  and  I  shall  always  maintain  that 
the  most  wonderful  tenderness  in  the  world 
is  that  with  which  a  man  who  had  known  a 
woman  all  his  life,  who  has  grown  with  her 
growth,  has  shared  her  laughter  and  her 
tears,  and  knows  her  to  her  last  feminine 
foible  or  strength,  takes  her  into  his  arms. 
Matthew  crouched  down  upon  the  grass  be- 
side me  and  gathered  me  against  his  breast, 
away  from  the  dreadful  monster-inhabited 

227 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

shadows,  and  made  me  feel  that  a  new  day 
could  dawn  upon  the  world.  I  think  from 
the  way  I  huddled  to  his  strength  that  he 
knew  that  I  had  given  up  the  fight  and  that 
his  hour  was  at  hand. 

"Do  you  want  me  now,  Ann?"  he  asked  me 
gently  as  he  pressed  his  cheek  against  my 
hair. 

"If  you  want  me,  take  me  and  help  me 
find  that  dog  to-morrow,"  I  answered  as  I 
again  reached  out  my  hand  and  put  it  for  the 
last  time  on  the  pathetic  little  woolly  head. 
I  could  n't  hold  back  the  sob. 

"Go  in  the  house  to  bed,  dear,  for  you  are 
completely  worn  out.  I  '11  bury  the  lamb 
and  look  for  any  traces  that  may  help  us  to 
find  the  savage,"  said  Matthew  as  he  drew 
me  to  my  feet  and  with  quiet  authority  led 
me  to  the  back  door  and  opened  it  for  me. 
For  a  second  I  let  him  take  me  again  into 
his  strong  arms,  but  I  wilted  there  and  I 
simply  could  not  raise  my  lips  to  his.  The 
first  time  I  remember  kissing  Matthew 
Berry  was  at  his  own  tenth  birthday  party, 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

and  he  had  dropped  a  handkerchief  behind 
me  that  I  had  failed  to  see  as  all  of  the 
budding  flower  and  chivalry  of  Hayesville 
stood  in  a  ring  in  his  mother's  drawing- 
room. 

"Dear  old  Matt,"  I  murmured  to  myself 
as  I  again  fell  dead  between  the  posts  of 
the  ancestral  bed. 

The  next  morning  I  awoke  to  a  new  world 
— or  rather  I  turned  straight  about  and  went 
back  into  my  own  proper  scheme  of  exist- 
ence. At  the  crack  of  dawn  I  wakened  and 
set  my  muscles  for  the  spring  from  my  pil- 
lows, then  I  stretched  my  arms,  yawned, 
snuggled  my  cheek  into  those  same  pillows, 
and  deliberately  went  to  sleep,  covering  up 
my  head  with  the  old  embroidered  counter- 
pane to  shut  out  from  my  ears  a  clarion 
crow  from  beyond  my  windows.  When  I 
next  became  conscious  old  Rufus'  woolly 
head  was  peering  anxiously  into  my  room 
door,  and  I  judged  from  the  length  of  the 
shadows  that  the  sun  cast  from  the  windows 
that  it  must  be  after  ten  o'clock. 

229 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Am  you  sick?"  he  inquired  with  bellig- 
erent solicitude. 

"No,  Rufus,  and  I  'm  going  back  to  sleep. 
Call  me  in  time  to  have  dinner  with  father 
and  Uncle  Cradd,"  I  answered  as  I  again 
burrowed  into  the  pillows. 

"I  give  that  there  rooster  and  family  a 
bucket  of  feed,"  said  Rufus  begrudgingly, 
and  he  stood  as  if  waiting  to  be  praised  for 
thus  burying  the  hatchet  that  he  had  been 
mentally  brandishing  over  the  neck  of  the 
enemy. 

I  made  no  response,  but  stretched  my 
tired  limbs  out  between  the  silky  old  sheets 
and  again  lost  consciousness. 

The  next  time  I  became  intelligent  it  was 
when  Polly's  soft  arm  was  slid  under  my 
neck  and  her  red  lips  applied  to  my  cheek. 

"Miss  Ann,  are  you  ill?"  she  questioned 
frantically.  "Mr.  Matthew  and  I  have 
been  here  for  hours  and  have  fed  and  at- 
tended to  everything.  He  made  me  come 
up  because  he  was  afraid  you  might  be 
dead." 

230 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  am,  Polly,  and  now  watch  me  come 
back  to  life,"  I  said  as  I  sat  up  and  blinked 
at  the  sun  coming  in  through  the  western 
window,  thus  proclaiming  the  time  as  full 
afternoon. 

"We  found  Mr.  G.  Bird  and  all  of  the 
other — "  Polly  was  beginning  to  say  when 
I  cut  her  short. 

"Polly,  dear,  please  go  tell  Matthew  to 
ride  down  to  the  bank  and  telephone  Bess 
that  I  'm  coming  in  to  stay  a  week  with  her 
and  to  invite  Belle  and  Owen  and  the  rest 
to  dinner.  By  the  time  he  gets  back  I  '11  be 
ready  to  go."  As  I  spoke  I  threw  the  sheet 
from  me  and  started  to  arise,  take  up  my 
life,  and  walk. 

"But  who  '11  attend  to  the  chickens  and — " 
Polly  fairly  gasped. 

"I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care,  and  if 
you  want  to  go  in  to  dinner  with  us,  Polly, 
you  had  better  hurry  on,  for  you  -11  have  to 
beg  your  mother  hard,"  I  said,  and  at  the 
suggestion  Polly  fairly  flew. 

I  don't  exactly  know  what  Polly  told 

231 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Matthew  about  me,  but  his  face  was  a  study 
as  I  descended  elegantly  clad  and  ready  to 
go  to  town  with  him. 

"Good,  dear!"  he  said  as  I  raised  my  lips 
to  his  and  gave  him  a  second  edition  of  that 
ring-around-rosy  kiss.  "I  knew  you  would 
wear  yourself  out.  I  have  telephoned  Owen 
to  motor  out  that  young  Belgian  that  Bald- 
win got  down  to  run  my  farm,  and  he  '11 
take  charge  of  everything  while  you  rest." 

"I  don't  care  whether  he  comes  or  not," 
I  said  as  I  walked  towards  the  library  door 
to  say  good-by  to  my  parent  twins,  who 
hardly  noticed  me  at  all  on  account  of  a 
knotty  disagreement  in  some  old  Greek  text 
they  were  digging  over. 

"Well,  you  needn't  worry  about — " 
Matthew  was  continuing  to  say,  with  the 
deepest  uncertainty  in  his  face  and  voice. 

"I  won't,"  I  answered.  "Did  Bess  say 
she  could  get  enough  people  together  to 
dance  to-night?" 

"We  '11  all  go  out  to  the  country  club  and 

232 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

have  a  great  fling,"  said  Matthew,  with  the 
soothing  tone  of  voice  that  one  would  use 
to  a  friend  temporarily  mentally  deranged. 
"Hope  Mother  Corn-tassel  lets  Polly  go." 

"There  she  is  waiting  at  the  gate  for  us 
with  her  frills  in  a  bundle.  Swoop  her  up, 
Matt,  and  fly  for  fear  she  is  getting  off  with- 
out Aunt  Mary's  seeing  her.  Aunt  Mary  is 
so  bent  on  keeping  Polly's  milking  hand  in." 

"That  young  Belgian  says  he  's  a  good 
milker,  and  you  need  n't  worry  about — " 

"I  won't,"  I  again  answered  Matthew, 
and  there  was  snap  enough  in  my  eyes  and 
voice  to  make  him  whistle  under  his  breath 
as  he  literally  swooped  up  Polly,  and  they 
both  had  the  good  sense  to  begin  to  talk 
about  town  affairs  and  leave  unmentioned 
all  rural  matters. 

Half-way  into  town  Matthew  swapped 
me  for  his  Belgian  in  Owen's  car,  and  Polly 
and  I  went  on  in  with  Owen  and  Bess,  while 
Matthew  returned  out  the  Riverfield  ribbon 
to  install  the  rescuer  of  Elmnest. 

233 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Oh,  Ann,  this  is  delicious,"  said  Bess  as 
she  came  back  with  me  to  cuddle  me  and  ask 
questions.  "But  what  are — " 

"Bess,"  I  said,  looking  her  straight  in  the 
face  with  determination,  "I  am  going  to 
marry  Matt  two  days  before  you  marry 
Owen,  though  he  does  n't  know  it  yet,  and  if 
you  talk  about  Elmnest  to  me  I  '11  go  and 
stay  with  Belle  this  week." 

"How  perfectly  lovely,  and  how  tired  you 
are,  poor  dear!"  Bess  congratulated  and  ex- 
claimed all  in  the  same  breath,  then  imparted 
both  my  announcement  and  my  injunction 
to  Owen  on  the  front  seat.  I  didn't  look 
at  Polly  while  Owen  was  laughing  and  ex- 
claiming, but  when  I  did  she  looked  queer 
and  quiet ;  however,  I  did  n't  let  that  at  all 
affect  the  nice  crisp  crust  that  had  hardened 
on  me  overnight.  And  I  must  say  that  if 
Corn-tassel  was  n't  happy  that  evening  sur- 
rounded by  the  edition  of  masculine  society 
that  Matt  had  so  carefully  expurgated  for 
her,  she  ought  to  have  been. 

By  that  time  I  had  told  Matthew  about 

284 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

his  approaching  marriage,  accepted  his  bear- 
hug  of  joy,  delivered  before  Bess  and  Polly 
and  Owen  and  Belle,  and  I  had  been  con- 
gratulated and  received  back  into  the  bosom 
of  my  friends  with  great  joy  and  hilarity. 

"Now  I  can  take  care  of  you  forever  and 
ever,  Ann,"  whispered  Matthew  in  his  good- 
night, with  his  lips  against  my  ear.  And 
there  in  his  strong,  sustaining  arms,  even 
though  limp  with  fatigue,  I  knew  I  never 
did,  could,  or  would,  love  anybody  like  I 
loved  him.  I  don't  really  suppose  I  did 
hear  Polly  sob  on  her  pillow  beside  mine, 
where  she  had  insisted  on  reposing.  She 
must  have  been  all  right,  for  she  was  gone 
out  into  the  rural  district  with  Matthew  be- 
fore I  was  awake  the  next  morning. 

After  Annette  had  served  mine  and  Bess's 
chocolate  in  Bess's  bedroom  we  settled  down 
to  the  real  seriousness  of  trousseau  talk, 
which  lasted  for  many  long  hours. 

"Now  if  I  sell  you  back  all  the  things  of 
yours  I  have  n't  worn  for  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  that  will  leave  you  over  three 

235 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

hundred  in  the  bank  to  get  a  few  wash  frocks 
and  hats  and  things  to  last  you  until  you  are 
enough  married  to  Matthew  to  use  his  money 
freely,"  said  Bess  after  about  an  hour  of  dis- 
cussion and  admiration  of  her  own  half- 
finished  trousseau. 

"Yes ;  I  should  say  those  things  would  be 
worth  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
now  that  they  are  third-hand,"  I  answered 
Bess's  excited  eyes,  giving  her  a  look  of  well- 
crusted  affection,  for  there  are  not  many 
women  in  the  world,  with  unlimited  com- 
mand of  the  material  that  Bess  has,  who 
would  not  have  offered  me  a  spiritual  hurt 
by  trying  to  give  me  back  my  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  old  clothes  which  she  had  not 
needed  in  the  first  place  when  she  bought 
them. 

"Now,  that 's  aU  settled,  and  we  '11  begin 
to  stretch  that  three  hundred  dollars  to  its 
limit.  We  won't  care  if  things  do  tear,  just 
so  they  look  smart  until  you  and  Matthew 
get  to  New  York.  Matthew  won't  be  the 
first  bridegroom  to  go  into  raptures  over  a 

236 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

thirty-nine-cent  bargain  silk  made  up  by  a 
sixty-dollar  dressmaker.  I  'm  giving  Owen 
a  few  deceptions  in  that  line  myself.  That 
gray  and  purple  tissue  splits  if  you  look  at 
it,  and  I  got  it  all  for  three  dollars.  Feli- 
cia made  it  up  mostly  with  glue,  I  think,  and 
I  will  be  a  dream  in  it — a  dream  that  dis- 
solves easily.  Let 's  go  shopping."  As  she 
thus  led  me  into  the  maze  of  dishonest  trous- 
seau-buying, Bess  began  to  ring  for  Ann- 
ette. 

Of  course  most  women  in  the  world  will 
refuse  to  admit  that  shopping  can  arouse 
them  from  any  kind  of  deadness  that  the 
sex  is  heir  to,  but  a  few  frank  ones,  like  my- 
self, for  instance,  will  say  such  to  be  the  case. 
For  three  weeks  I  gave  myself  up  to  a  per- 
fect debauch  of  clothes,  and  ended  off  each 
day's  spree  by  dancing  myself  into  a  state 
of  exhaustion.  Everybody  in  Hayesville 
wanted  to  give  Bess  and  me  parties,  and 
most  of  them  did,  that  is,  as  many  as  we 
could  get  in  at  the  rate  of  three  a  day  be- 
tween dressmakers  and  milliners  and  other 

237 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

clothing  engagements.  Owen  got  perfectly 
furious  and  exhausted,  but  Matthew  kept 
in  an  angelic  frame  of  mind  through  it  all. 
I  think  the  long  days  with  Polly  out  in  the 
open  helped  him  a  lot,  though  at  times  I  de- 
tected a  worried  expression  on  the  faces  of 
them  both,  and  I  felt  sure  that  they  were  dy- 
ing to  tell  me  that  it  had  been  a  case  of  the 
razor  from  Rufus'  shoe  between  him  and  the 
Belgian  or  that  the  oil  was  of  the  grade  that 
explodes  incubators,  but  I  gave  them  no  en- 
couragement and  only  inquired  casually 
from  time  to  time  if  the  parental  twins  were 
alive.  Polly  even  tried  me  out  with  a  bunch 
of  roses,  which  I  knew  came  from  the  old 
musk  clump  in  the  corner  of  the  garden 
which  I  had  seen  rebudded,  but  I  thanked 
her  coldly  and  immediately  gave  them  to 
Belle's  mother.  I  saw  Matthew  comfort- 
ing her  in  the  distance,  and  his  face  was 
tenderly  anxious  about  me  all  the  rest  of 
the  evening. 

"Dear,  are  we  going  to  be — be  married 
in  town  at  a  church?'*  Matthew  inquired 

238 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

timidly  one  afternoon  as  he  drove  me  home 
from  a  devastated  hat  shop  on  the  avenue, 
in  which  Bess  and  I  had  been  spending  the 
day. 

"No,  Matt  dear,  at  Elmnest,"  I  answered 
kindly,  as  a  bride,  no  matter  how  worn  out, 
ought  to  answer  a  groom,  though  Bess  says 
that  a  groom  ought  to  expect  to  be  snapped 
every  time  he  speaks  for  ten  days  before  the 
wedding.  "As  long  as  I  have  got  a  home 
that  contains  two  masculine  parents  I  will 
have  to  be  married  in  it.  I  '11  go  out  the 
morning  of  the  wedding,  and  you  and  Polly 
fix  everything  and  invite  everybody  in  Riv- 
erfield,  but  just  the  few  people  here  in  town 
you  think  we  ought  to  have,  not  more  than  a 
dozen.  Have  it  at  five  o'clock."  I  thought 
then  that  I  fixed  that  hour  because  every- 
body would  hate  it  because  of  the  heat  and 
uncertainty  as  to  style  of  clothes. 

"All  right,  dear,"  answered  Matthew, 
carefully,  as  if  handling  conversational 
eggs. 

"Miss  Ann,  where  do  you  want  us  to  fix 

239 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

the  wedding— er — bell  and  altar?"  Polly 
ventured  to  ask  timidly  a  few  days  later. 

"The  parlor,  of  course,  Polly.  I  hate 
that  room,  and  it  is  as  far  from  the  barn  as 
possible.  Now  don't  bother  me  any  more 
about  it,"  I  snapped,  and  sent  her  flying  to 
Matthew  in  consternation.  Later  I  saw 
them  poring  over  the  last  June-bride  number 
of  "The  Woman's  Review,"  and  I  surmised 
the  kind  of  a  wedding  I  was  in  for.  That 
day  I  tried  on  a  combination  of  tull,  lace, 
and  embroidery  at  Felicia's  that  tried  my 
soul  as  well  as  my  body. 

"It 's  no  worse  than  any  other  wedding- 
dress  I  ever  saw;  take  it  off  quick,  Madame," 
I  snapped  as  crossly  as  I  dared  at  the  poor 
old  lady,  who  had  gowned  me  from  the  cradle 
to  the — I  was  about  to  say  grave. 

"Eh,  la  la,  mais,  you  are  tres  deficile — dif- 
ficult," she  murmured  reproachfully. 

"Any  more  so  than  Bess?"  I  demanded. 

"Non,  perhaps  non"  she  answered,  with  a 
French  shrug. 

With  beautiful  tact  Matthew  fussed  with 

240 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

his  throttle,  which  I  couldn't  see  stuck  at 
all,  the  entire  time  he  was  driving  me  home, 
and  left  me  with  a  careful  embrace  and  also 
with  relief  in  his  face  that  I  had  n't  exploded 
over  him.  Owen  is  not  like  that  to  Bess; 
he  just  pours  gas  on  her  explosions  and  fans 
the  resulting  flame  until  it  is  put  out  by  tears 
in  his  arms. 

"Let 's  never  get  married  at  the  same  time 
any  more,  Ann,"  groaned  Bess  as  Annette 
tried  to  put  us  both  to  bed  that  night  before 
we  fell  dead  on  her  hands. 

"Don't  speak  to  mel"  was  my  answer  as 
nearly  as  I  can  remember. 

"I  '11  be  glad  to  get  Bess  away  from  your 
influence,"  raged  Owen  at  me  the  next  day 
when  I  very  nearly  stepped  on  one  of  the 
little  chickens  that  he  was  having  run  in 
and  out  from  the  conservatory. 

"You  '11  want  to  bring  her  back  in  a  week 
if  both  your  tempers  don't  improve,"  was  my 
cutting  reply  as  this  time  I  lifted  another 
of  his  small  pets  with  the  toe  of  my  slipper 
and  literally  flung  it  across  the  room. 

241 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Great  guns!"  exploded  Owen,  as  he  re- 
treated into  the  conservatory  and  shut  the 
door. 

The  next  night  was  the  sixth  of  June  and 
the  night  of  my  wedding  eve.  All  Bess's 
bridesmaids  and  groomsmen  were  dining 
with  her  to  rehearse  her  wedding  and  to  have 
a  sort  of  farewell  bat  with  Matthew  and  me. 

"What  about  your  and  Ann's  wedding  to 
Matthew,  Miss  Polly?"  I  heard  Cale  John- 
son ask  Polly  as  she  and  Matthew  were  un- 
tangling a  bolt  of  wide,  white-satin  ribbon 
that  I  had  tangled.  "All  the  show  to  be  of 
rustics?" 

"Nobody  but  Polly  is  going  to  stand 
by  us,"  said  Matthew,  looking  cautiously 
around  to  see  if  I  was  listening.  "Ann 
does  n't  believe  in  making  much  fuss  over  a 
wedding." 

"I  did  n't  know  I  was  to  be  in  it  until  Miss 
Bess  took  me  to  be  fitted — oh,  it  is  a  dream 
of  a  dress,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Matthew?"  said 
Polly,  with  her  enthusiasm  also  tempered  by 
a  glance  in  my  direction. 

242 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"It  sure  is,"  answered  Matthew,  with  the 
greatest  approval,  as  he  regarded  Polly  with 
parental  pride. 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  I  'm  invited  to  see  it," 
said  Cale  as  he  glanced  at  Polly  tenderly. 
"I  mean  to  be  at  the  wedding,  Matt,"  he 
added  politely.  Cale  was  to  be  best  man 
with  Polly  as  maid  of  honor  at  Bess's  wed- 
ding, and  he  had  been  standing  and  sitting 
close  at  Polly's  side  for  more  than  ten  days. 

"Let 's  try  it  all  over  again,  everybody," 
called  Bess's  wearied  voice,  interrupting 
Polly's  enthusiastic  description  of  ruffles. 

The  wedding  day  was  a  nightmare.  An- 
nette and  the  housemaid  and  Bess  and  a  girl 
from  Madame  Felicia's  packed  up  three 
trunks  full  of  my  clothes  and  sent  them  all 
to  the  station. 

"I  wish  I  never  had  to  see  them  again," 
I  said  viciously  under  my  breath  as  the  ex- 
pressmen carried  out  the  last  trunk. 

"Now,  dear,  in  these  two  suitcases  are 
your  wedding  things  and  your  going-away 
gown.  Your  dress  is  in  the  long  box  and 

243 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

we  will  send  them  all  out  early  in  the  morn- 
ing in  my  car.  Matthew  will  drive  us  out 
as  soon  as  we  can  get  ready,"  Bess  had  said 
the  night  before,  as  she  sank  on  my  bed  and 
spread  out  with  fatigue. 


24* 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  next  morning  it  took  Annette  un- 
til ten  o'clock  and  a  shower  of  tears  to 
get  Bess  and  me  to  sit  up  and  take  our  cof- 
fee. She  said  the  decorators  were  down- 
stairs beginning  on  Bess's  wedding  decora- 
tions and  that  the  sun  was  shining  on  my 
wedding-day. 

"Well,  I  wish  it  had  delayed  itself  a  couple 
of  hours.  I  'm  too  sleepy  to  get  married," 
I  grumbled  as  I  sat  up  to  take  the  tray  of 
coffee  on  my  knees. 

"Owen  is  a  darling,"  I  heard  Bess  mur- 
mur from  her  bed,  which  was  against  the 
wall  and  mine  as  our  rooms  opened  into  each 
other.  I  also  heard  a  rustle  of  paper  and 
smelled  the  perfume  of  flowers. 

"This  is  for  Mademoiselle  from  Monsieur 
Berry,"  said  Annette,  as  she  triumphantly 
produced  a  white  box  tied  with  white  rib- 

245 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

bons  that  lay  in  the  center  of  a  bunch  of  wild 
field-roses. 

"Take  it  away  and  let  me  drink  my  cof- 
fee," I  said,  and  I  could  see  Annette's 
French  eyes  snap  as  she  laid  down  the  of- 
fering from  Matthew  and  went  to  attend 
upon  Bess. 

"Dear  Matt,"  I  murmured  when  I  had 
consumed  the  coffee  and  discovered  the  long 
string  of  gorgeous  pearls  in  the  white  box. 
"Come  on,  Bess,  let 's  begin  to  get  married 
and  be  done  with  it,"  I  called  to  her  as  I 
wearily  arose.  "What  time  did  Polly  say 
she  and  Matthew  had  decided  to  marry  me?" 
I  asked  as  I  went  into  my  bath. 

"Five  o'clock,  and  it 's  almost  twelve 
now,"  answered  Bess  in  a  voice  of  panic  as 
I  heard  things  begin  to  fly  into  place  in  her 
room. 

Despite  the  superhuman  efforts  and  pa- 
tience of  Annette  and  two  housemaids,  di- 
rected from  below  by  Owen  and  Judge 
Rutherford,  it  was  half-past  two  o'clock  be- 
fore I  was  ready  to  descend  to  the  car  in 

246 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

which  Matthew  had  been  sitting,  patiently 
waiting  in  the  sunshine  of  his  wedding  day 
for  almost  two  hours. 

"Plenty  of  time,"  he  said  cheerily,  as  I 
sank  into  the  seat  beside  him,  and  Bess  and 
Owen  climbed  in  behind  us.  Owen's  chauf- 
feur took  Judge  Rutherford  in  Owen's  car, 
and  Annette  perched  her  prim  self  on  the 
front  seat  beside  the  wheel. 

"Oh,  Matt,  there  is  nobody  in  the  world 
like  you,"  I  said  as  I  cast  myself  on  his  pa- 
tience and  imperturbability  and  also  the 
strength  of  his  broad  shoulder  next  mine.  I 
could  positively  hear  Bess  and  Owen's  joy 
over  this  bride-like  manifestation,  which  the 
wind  took  back  to  them  as  we  went  sailing 
out  of  town  towards  the  Riverfield  ribbon. 

And  to  their  further  joy  I  put  my  cheek 
down  against  Matthew's  throttle  arm  and 
closed  my  eyes  so  that  I  did  not  see  anything 
of  the  twenty-mile  progression  out  to  Elm- 
nest.  I  only  opened  them  when  we  arrived 
in  Riverfield  at  about  half  after  three 
o'clock. 

247 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Was  the  village  out  to  greet  me?  It  was 
not.  Every  front  door  was  closed,  and 
every  front  shutter  shut,  and  I  might  have 
felt  that  some  dire  disapproval  was  being  ex- 
pressed of  me  and  my  wedding  if  I  had  not 
seen  smoke  fairly  belching  from  every 
kitchen  chimney,  and  if  I  had  n't  known  that 
each  house  was  filled  with  the  splash  of  vig- 
orous tubbing  for  which  the  kitchen  stoves 
and  wash  boilers  were  supplying  the  hot 
water. 

"Bet  at  least  ten  pounds  of  soap  has  gone 
up  in  lather,"  said  Matthew  as  he  turned 
and  explained  the  situation  to  Bess  and 
Owen  after  I  had  explained  it  to  him. 

At  the  door  of  Elmnest  stood  Polly  in  a 
gingham  dress,  but  with  both  ends  of  her 
person  in  bridal  array,  from  the  white  satin 
bows  on  the  looped  up  plats  to  the  white  silk 
stockings  and  satin  slippers,  greeting  us  with 
relief  and  enthusiasm.  Beside  her  stood 
Aunt  Mary  and  the  parent  twins,  also  Bud, 
in  the  gray  suit  with  a  rose  in  his  button-hole. 

Matthew  handed  me  out  and  into  their  re- 

248 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

spective  embraces,  while  he  also  gave  Polly 
a  bundle  of  dry-goods  from  which  I  could 
see  white  satin  ribbon  bursting. 

"Everything  is  ready,"  she  confided  to 
him. 

"I  knew  it  would  be,  Corn-tassel,"  he  an- 
swered, with  an  expression  of  affectionate 
confidence  and  pride. 

Then  from  the  embrace  of  Uncle  Cradd 
I  walked  straight  through  the  back  door  to- 
wards the  barn,  leaving  both  Bess  and  An- 
nette in  a  state  of  wild  remonstrance,  with 
the  wedding  paraphernalia  all  being  carried 
up  the  stairs  by  Bud  and  Rufus.  Looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  I  made 
my  way  to  the  barn-door  and  then  stopped 
still— dead  still. 

It  was  no  longer  my  barn — it  was  merely 
the  entrance  to  a  model  poultry  farm  that 
spread  out  acres  and  acres  of  model  houses 
and  runs  behind  it.  Chickens,  both  white 
and  red,  were  clucking  and  working  in  all 
the  pens,  and  nowhere  among  them  could  I 
see  the  Golden  Bird. 

249 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  hope  he  's  dead,  too,"  I  said  as  I  turned 
on  my  heel  and,  without  a  word,  walked 
back  to  the  house  and  up  to  my  room,  past 
Polly  and  Matthew,  who  stood  at  the  barn- 
door, their  faces  pale  with  anxiety. 

When  I  considered  that  I  had  been  able 
for  months  to  clothe  myself  with  decency 
and  leave  my  room  in  less  than  fifteen  min- 
utes, I  could  not  see  why  time  dragged  so 
for  me  when  being  clothed  by  Annette  and 
Aunt  Mary.  True,  Aunt  Mary  paused  to 
sniff  into  her  handkerchief  every  few  min- 
utes or  to  listen  to  Annette's  French  rap- 
tures as  she  laid  upon  me  each  foolish  gar- 
ment up  unto  the  long  swath  of  heathenish 
tulle  she  was  beginning  to  arrange  when  an 
interruption  occurred  in  the  shape  of  Ruf us, 
who  put  his  head  in  the  door  and  mysteri- 
ously summoned  Polly,  who  had  come  in  to 
exhibit  her  silk  muslin  frills,  in  which  she 
was  the  incarnation  of  young  love's  dream. 

"You  are  beautiful,  darling,"  I  had  just 
said,  with  the  first  warmth  in  my  voice  I  had 
felt  for  many  days,  when  Rufus  appeared 

250 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

and  Polly  departed  to  leave  Annette  and 
Aunt  Mary  to  the  task  of  the  tulle  and 
orange-blossoms.  They  took  their  time,  and 
it  was  only  five  minutes  to  five  when  Bess 
came  in  to  get  her  procession  all  marshalled. 

"Come  down  the  back  steps,  darling,  and 
let 's  all  cool  off  on  the  back  porch,"  she  ad- 
vised. "It  is  terribly  hot  up  here  under  the 
roof,  and  Polly  and  Matthew  say  they  have 
decided  to  come  in  from  the  back  door  so 
everybody  will  have  a  better  view  of  you. 
How  beautiful  you  are!" 

As  directed,  I  descended  and  stood  spread 
out  like  a  white  peacock  on  the  back  porch. 

"Now  call  Matthew  and  Polly,"  Bess  di- 
rected Annette. 

For  several  minutes  we  waited. 

"Monsieur  Berry  is  not  here,"  finally  re- 
ported Annette,  with  fine  dramatic  effect  of 
her  outspread  hands. 

"Tell  Owen  to  find  him,"  commanded 
Bess.  "It  is  five  minutes  late  now,  and  they 
must  make  that  seven-twenty  New  York 
train.  Hurry  1" 

251 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Annette  departed  while  Aunt  Mary  came 
to  the  back  door  and  looked  out  question- 
ingly. 

"Great  guns,  Bess,  where  is  Matt?"  de- 
manded Owen  as  he  came  around  the  house 
with  his  eyes  and  hair  wild. 

"Where's  Polly?  she'll  know!"  I  an- 
swered tranquilly. 

"I  searched  Mademoiselle  Polly,  and  she 
is  also  not  here,"  answered  Annette,  again 
running  down  the  back  stairs.  From  the 
long  parlor  and  hall  came  an  excited  buzz, 
and  Aunt  Mary  came  out  upon  the  back 
porch  entirely  this  time. 

"Every  one  of  you  go  and  look  for  them 
and  leave  me  here  quiet  if  you  don't  want 
me  to  have  a  brain  storm,"  I  said  positively. 
"They  have  probably  gone  to  feed  the 
chickens." 

Not  risking  me  to  make  good  my  threat, 
Bess  and  Annette  and  Aunt  Mary  and 
Owen  and  Bud  disappeared  in  as  many  dif- 
ferent directions.  They  left  me  standing 
alone  out  on  the  old  porch,  along  the  eaves 

252 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

of  which  rioted  a  rose,  literally  covered  with 
small  pink  blossoms  that  kept  throwing  gen- 
erous gusts  of  rosy  petals  down  upon  my 
tulle  and  lace  and  the  bouquet  of  exotics  I 
held  in  my  hand.  Across  the  valley  the  sky- 
line of  Paradise  Ridge  seemed  to  be  holding 
down  huge  rosy  clouds  that  were  trying  to 
bubble  up  beyond  it. 

Suddenly  I  drew  aside  the  tulle  from  my 
face,  dropped  my  bouquet,  and  stretched  out 
my  arms  to  the  sunset. 

"I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  to  the  hills— Oh, 
Pan!"  I  said  in  a  soft  agony  of  supplication 
as  I  felt  the  crust  around  me  begin  a  cos- 
mic upheaval. 

"Well,  this  looks  like  a  Romney  bundle 
and  my  woman  to  follow  into  the  woods. 
You  know  I  won't  have  this  kind  of  a  wed- 
ding," suddenly  fluted  a  stormy  voice  from 
the  other  side  of  the  rose  vine  as  Pan  came 
up  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps. 

"Why — why,"  I  began  to  say,  and  then 
stopped,  because  the  storm  was  still  burst- 
ing over  my  head  from  Pan,  who  was  at- 

253 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

tired  in  his  usual  Roycroft  costume  and  had 
in  one  hand  the  Romney  bundle  and  in  the 
other  the  usual  white  bundle  of  herbs.  Also 
as  usual  he  was  guiltless  of  a  hat,  and  the 
crests  were  unusually  long  and  ruffled. 

"You  look  foolish,  and  I  won't  marry  you 
that  way.  Go  straight  up-stairs  and  put  on 
real  clothes,  get  your  bundle,  and  come  on. 
I  want  to  eat  supper  over  on  Sky  Rock,  and 
it  is  seven  miles,  and,  you  '11  have  to  cook  it. 
I  'm  hungry,"  he  stormed  still  more  furi- 
ously. 

"Everybody  is  inside  waiting,  and  it 's  not 
your— 

"Well,  tell  'em  all  to  come  out  in  the  open. 
I  won't  take  a  mate  in  a  house,  even  if  it  has 
to  be  done  with  this  foolish  paper,"  he  con- 
tinued to  rage  as  he  sought  in  the  bandana 
bundle  and  produced  an  official  document 
with  a  red  tape  on  it.  "You  go  and  put  on 
your  clothes,  and  I  '11  break  up  this  foolish- 
ness and  get  'em  in  the  yard." 

"But  wait  —  you  don't  understand. 
You—" 

254 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"You  Ve  got  all  the  rest  of  your  life  to 
explain  disobeying  me  like  this  when  I  ex- 
pressly wrote  you  just  what  I  wanted  you 
to — "  Pan  went  on  with  his  raging.  At  this 
juncture  Uncle  Cradd  appeared  at  the  back 
door  in  mild  excitement. 

"Nancy,  my  child,  our  friends  are  grow- 
ing impatient,  and  is  there  anything  the — " 

But  here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  clamor 
of  voices  that  fairly  poured  its  volume 
around  the  corner  of  the  house.  In  two 
seconds  it  explained  itself  by  its  very  appear- 
ance. First  came  Matthew,  walking  slowly, 
and  in  his  arms  he  carried  a  soaked  bundle 
which  he  held  to  his  breast  as  tenderly,  I 
was  sure,  as  young  Mrs.  Buford  was  holding 
the  blue  bundle  in  the  parlor,  and  two  long 
plaits  hung  down  over  his  arm.  From  be- 
tween him  and  the  bundle  there  came  a  feeble 
squawking  and  fluttering  of  wings.  From 
them  all  poured  rivulets  of  water,  and 
mingled  with  the  squawks  were  weak 
gurgles.  As  I  looked,  Matthew  stopped 
and  lifted  the  bundle  closer  on  his  breast, 

255 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

disclosing  its  identity  as  that  of  Polly,  and 
buried  his  face  in  the  soaked  hair  while  they 
all  stood  dripping  together  as  the  rest  of  us 
stood  perfectly  silent  and  still. 

"That  fool  Henri  let  the  Golden  Bird  get 
away,  and  he  flew  across  the  river  and  fell 
in  a  tangle  of  undergrowth.  Rufus  called 
Polly,  and  she  plunged  right  in  after  him. 
Her  dress  caught  on  the  same  snag  and 
God,  Ann,  they  were  being  sucked  under 
just  as  I  got  to  them.  She  's  still  uncon- 
scious." In  some  ways  as  unconscious  as 
was  the  Corn-tassel,  Matthew  began  to  press 
hot  kisses  on  the  face  under  his  chin  which 
brought  forth  a  feeble  choke. 

"Lay  her  down  on  the  porch,  and  I  '11 
show  you  how  to  empty  her  lungs,  Berry," 
said  Adam,  laying  down  his  bundle  and  tak- 
ing charge  of  the  situation,  as  all  the  rest, 
even  capable  Aunt  Mary,  still  stood  helpless 
before  the  catastrophe.  Reluctantly,  Mat- 
thew obeyed. 

"Uncle  Cradd,  go  in  the  house  and  tell 
them  all  what  has  happened,  and  ask  them 

256 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

all  to  come  out  on  the  cool  of  the  lawn  un- 
til we  can  have  the  wedding.  It  will  be  in 
just  a  few  minutes,  tell  them,"  I  said,  with 
the  brain  that  had  taken  the  incubator  eggs 
to  bed  with  Bess  and  me  beginning  to  act 
rapidly.  "Let  me  speak  to  you  just  a 
second,  Matt,"  I  said,  and  drew  the  dazed 
and  dripping  bridegroom  to  one  side. 

"Matthew,"  I  said  very  quietly  and  slowly 
so  that  I  would  not  have  to  repeat  the  words, 
"I  'm  not  going  to  marry  you  at  all,  but  I  'm 
going  to  marry  Evan  Baldwin.  I  '11  tell 
you  all  about  it  when  I  come  back  from  my 
honeymoon  with  him.  You  help  me  put  it 
through  and  then  stay  right  here  and  look 
after  Polly.  She  may  suffer  terribly  from 
shock." 

"Oh,  God,  Ann,  my  heart  turned  over  in 
my  breast  and  kicked  when  I  saw  her  sink, 
and  for  a  minute  I  could  n't  find  her,"  Mat- 
thew said  as  he  gave  a  dripping  shudder  that 
shook  some  of  the  water  off  him  and  on  my 
tulle.  To  the  announcement  of  the  loss 
of  a  bride  he  gave  no  heed  at  all,  for  at  that 

257 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

moment,  as  Pan  lifted  the  drenched  bundle 
across  his  knees  and  patted  it,  a  faint  voice 
moaned  out  Matthew's  name,  and  he  flew 
to  receive  the  revived  Polly  in  his  arms. 

"Now,  hold  her  that  way  until  I  am  sure 
I  have  established  complete  respiration," 
commanded  Pan.  "You  women  begin  to 
take  these  wet  rags  off  of  her.  Get  two 
blankets."  At  which  command  the  rest  of 
the  bridal  party  flew  to  work  in  different  di- 
rections and  I  with  them.  Bess  and  I  ar- 
rived in  my  room  at  the  same  moment,  and 
she  seized  the  two  blankets  I  drew  from  the 
chest  and  departed  without  waiting  for 
words.  As  I  drew  out  the  blankets,  some- 
thing else  rolled  to  the  floor,  and  I  saw  it 
was  my  Romney  bundle,  packed  weeks  be- 
fore my  death. 

Its  suggestion  was  not  to  be  denied.  I 
stopped  just  where  I  was,  and  in  two  min- 
utes my  strong  hands  ripped  that  tulle  and 
lace  and  chiffon  from  my  back  without  wait- 
ing to  undo  hooks  and  eyes.  In  another 
three  minutes  I  was  into  a  pair  of  the  tan 

258 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

cotton  stockings  and  the  flat  shoes,  which 
Pan  had  made  me  that  rainy  day  in  the  barn, 
had  on  my  corduroys  and  a  linen  smock,  and 
was  running  down  to  my  wedding  with 
wings  of  the  wind. 

When  I  reached  the  back  porch  I  found 
Polly  sitting  up  on  the  floor,  with  Matthew's 
arms  around  her,  and  the  entire  wedding- 
party  standing  beside  the  back  steps,  look- 
ing on  and  ejaculating  with  thankfulness. 
Old  Parson  Henderson  stood  near,  beam- 
ing down  benedictions  for  the  rescue,  and  I 
decided  that  they  were  all  in  a  daze  in  which 
anything  could  be  put  over  on  them. 

"Here's  my  bundle  and  me,"  I  whis- 
pered to  Pan,  as  he  stood  regarding  the 
young  recovered  squaw  proudly.  "Hand 
the  license  to  Parson  Hendricks.  I  '11 
make  him  go  on  and  marry  us  and  get  away 
before  anybody  puts  me  back  into  tulle." 

"As  Polly  is  all  right  now  we  '11  have  the 
wedding,  for  it 's  getting  late,  and  we  want 
to  get  across  to  the  Paradise  Ridge  to 
camp,"  said  Adam,  with  the  fluty  command 

259 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

in  his  voice  which  always  gets  attention  and 
obedience.  As  he  spoke  he  put  down  his 
bundle,  gave  Parson  Hendricks  the  docu- 
ment, and  drew  me  beside  him.  I  kept  my 
bundle  in  my  hand  and  stood  with  my  other 
in  his. 

"Why,  I  did  n't  know  that—"  the  old  par- 
son began  to  splutter  while  a  murmur  of  sur- 
prise and  question  began  to  arise  among 
the  hitherto  hypnotized  wedding-guests. 
Judge  Rutherford  stood  apart  with  the  twin 
parents  showing  them  some  book  treasure  he 
had  unearthed  for  father,  and  I  don't  think 
that  either  one  of  my  natural  guardians  was 
at  my  wedding  except  in  body. 

At  the  critical  moment  dear  old  Matt  did 
rise  to  the  occasion,  as  did  Polly  also,  with 
a  crimson  glow  coming  into  her  drenched 
cheeks,  pallid  only  a  second  before,  and  a 
light  like  sunrise  on  a  violet  bank  coming 
into  her  eyes. 

"She's  always  intended  to  marry  Bald- 
win. I  knew  all  about  it.  Go  on!" 
Matthew  commanded,  as  he  supported 

260 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

Polly  in  her  blankets  on  wobbly  bare  feet. 

During  the  resuscitation  of  Polly,  Owen 
Murray,  true  to  his  new  passion  for  the  Leg- 
horn family,  had  been  reviving  Mr.  G.  Bird 
and  now  with  regard  for  decorum,  he  set  him 
quietly  upon  his  feet.  Did  the  Golden  Bird 
run  like  a  coward  from  the  scene  of  the 
catastrophe  of  his  making?  He  did  not. 
He  deliberately  stretched  his  wings,  gave  a 
mighty  crow,  and  walked  over  and  began 
to  peck  in  my  smock-pockets  at  corn  that 
had  lain  there  many  long  weeks  for  him. 

"Go  on,  Parson,"  commanded  Pan  again, 
impatiently,  and  then  standing  together  in 
the  fading  sunlight,  Pan,  Mr.  G.  Bird,  and 
I  were  married. 

Did  Pan  allow  me  to  stay  and  make  sat- 
isfactory explanations  of  my  conduct  to  my 
friends  and  enjoy  the  wedding  festivities  so 
carefully  copied  out  of  the  "Review"  by 
Polly  and  Matthew?  He  did  not.  Imme- 
diately after  the  ceremony  he  picked  up  his 
two  bundles  and  turned  to  all  of  our  as- 
sembled friends. 

261 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"We  '11  be  back  in  a  few  weeks,  and  then 
I  '11  show  you  what  I  learned  in  Argentina. 
We  have  to  hurry  now  to  get  across  the  val- 
ley. Some  of  the  fine  sheep  over  at  Plunk- 
ett's  are  down  with  foot  rash,  and  I  want  to 
be  there  by  noon.  Luck  to  you  all."  With 
these  words  Pan  led  me  around  the  corner 
of  the  house,  through  the  old  garden,  and 
out  into  the  woods,  Mr.  G.  Bird  still  fol- 
lowing at  the  smock-pocket. 

"We  '11  have  to  go  back  and  lock  him  up; 
he  '11  follow  me,"  I  said,  as  I  paused  and 
took  the  Golden  Bird's  proud  head  in  my 
hand  and  let  him  peck  at  a  dull  gold  circle 
on  my  third  finger,  which,  I  am  sure,  Pan 
himself  had  hammered  out  of  a  nugget  for 
me. 

"No,  let 's  take  him.  I  want  to  show  him 
over  at  Plunkett's  and  then  in  Providence 
and  Hillsboro,  to  grade  up  their  poultry.  I 
doubt  if  there  's  his  equal  in  America,"  an- 
swered Pan  as  he  went  on  ahead  of  me  to 
break  the  undergrowth  into  which  he  was 
leading  me  underneath  the  huge  old  trees. 

26£ 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"I  did  n't  write  you  to  let  that  fool  Bel- 
gian prune  the  whole  place  like  that,"  Pan 
remarked  as  we  paused  at  old  Tilting  Rock 
and  looked  down  upon  the  orderly  and  re- 
paired Elmnest  in  the  sunset  glow. 

"Write?"  I  murmured  weakly,  while  my 
mind  accused  Uncle  Cradd,  and  rightly  too, 
as  I  learned  later  after  a  search  in  his 
pockets. 

"Was  n't  any  use  sending  any  letter  after 
that  New  Orleans  one,  because  I  traveled 
on  the  return  trip  all  the  way  myself.  Still 
you  did  pretty  well  to  get  the  wedding  and 
all  ready  at  the  hour  I  set,  even  if  you  did 
make  that  awful  flummery  mistake.  I  '11 
forgive  you  even  that  after  I  get  over  the 
shock  of  seeing  you  look  that  way." 

"The  hour  you  set?"  I  again  murmured 
a  weak  question. 

"I  thought  of  writing  you  to  get  ready  by 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  I  knew  I  'd 
have  to  stop  in  Hayesville  for  that  bit  of  red 
tape,  so  I  said  five  o'clock  and  had  to  hustle 
to  make  it.  I  knew  you  'd  be  ready.  Now 

263 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

you  '11  have  to  travel,  for  we  have  five  miles 
to  go  and  it  takes  the  pot  two  hours  to  sim- 
mer. Are  you  hungry?" 

I  had  n't  the  strength  to  answer.  I  had 
just  enough  to  pad  along  behind  at  his  heels 
with  Mr.  G.  Bird  at  mine.  However,  as  I 
padded,  I  suddenly  felt  return  that  strength 
of  ten  women  which  I  had  put  from  me  the 
morning  I  fled  from  the  empty  Elmnest, 
and  I  knew  that  it  had  come  upon  me  to 
abide. 

I  needed  every  bit  of  the  energy  of  ten 
ordinary  women  to  keep  up  with  Pan's  com- 
mands, as  I  helped  him  make  camp  beside  a 
cool  spring  that  bubbled  out  of  a  rock  in  a 
little  cove  that  was  swung  high  up  on  the 
side  of  Paradise  Ridge.  I  washed  the 
bundle  of  greens  he  had  brought  to  the  wed- 
ding and  set  them  to  simmer  with  the  in- 
evitable black  walnut  kernels  in  a  pot  that 
he  produced  from  under  a  log  in  the  edge  of 
the  woods,  along  with  a  couple  of  earthen 
bowls  like  the  ones  he  kept  secreted  in  the 
spring-house  at  Elmnest. 

264 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

"Got  'em  all  over  ten  States,"  he  an- 
swered, as  I  questioned  him  with  delight  at 
the  presence  of  our  old  friends.  Then  while 
I  crouched  and  stirred,  he  took  his  long  knife 
out,  cut  great  armfuls  of  cedar  boughs, 
threw  them  in  a  shadow  at  the  foot  of  a  tall 
old  oak,  and  with  a  bundle  of  sticks  swept 
upon  them  a  great  pile  of  dry  leaves  into  the 
form  of  a  huge  nest.  The  golden  glow  was 
just  fading  as  I  lifted  the  pot  and  poured  his 
portion  in  his  bowl,  then  mine  in  the  other, 
while  he  cut  the  black  loaf  he  had  taken  from 
his  bundle  into  hunks  with  his  knife.  It  was 
after  seven  o'clock,  and  the  crescent  moon 
hung  low  by  the  ridge,  waiting  for  the  sun 
to  take  its  complete  departure  before  setting 
in  for  its  night's  joy-ride  up  the  sky.  It 
was  eight  before  Pan  finished  his  slow 
browsing  in  his  bowl  and  came  over  to  crouch 
with  me  out  on  the  ledge  of  rock  that  over- 
looked the  world  below  us.  Clusters  of 
lights  in  nests  of  gray  smoke  were  dotted 
around  over  the  valley,  and  I  knew  the  near- 
est one  was  Riverfield;  indeed  I  could  see  a 

265 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

bunch  of  lights  a  little  way  apart  from  the 
rest,  and  I  felt  sure  that  they  were  lighting 
the  remaining  revelers  at  my  wedding-feast 
at  Elmnest.  The  Golden  Bird  had  gone 
sensibly  to  roost  on  one  of  the  low  limbs  of 
the  old  oak,  and  he  reminded  me  of  the  white 
blur  of  Polly's  wedding  bell,  which  I  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  as  I  ran  through  the  hall 
at  Elmnest. 

fel  am  thy  cMld"  crooned  Pan,  with  a  new 
note  to  his  chant  that  immediately  started 
on  my  heartstrings.  "And  I  'm  tired,"  he 
added  as  he  stretched  himself  on  the  rock 
beside  me,  laid  his  head  on  my  breast,  and 
nuzzled  his  lips  into  my  bare  throat. 

"I  'm  going  to  lift  the  crests  and  look  at 
the  tips  of  your  ears,  Pan,"  I  said  as  I  held 
him  tight. 

"Better  not,"  he  mocked  me. 

I  did,  and  the  tips  were — I  never  intend 
to  tell. 

The  lights  were  twinkling  out  in  the  val- 
ley one  by  one,  and  the  young  moon  made 
the  purple  blackness  below  us  only  faintly 

266 


THE  GOLDEN  BIRD 

luminous  when  Pan  drew  me  closer  and  then 
into  the  very  edge  of  the  world  itself,  and 
pointed  down  into  the  soft  darkness. 

"We  are  all  like  that,  we  natives  of  this 
great  land — asleep  in  the  midst  of  a  silvery 
mist,  while  the  rest  of  the  world  is  in  the 
blaze  of  hell.  We  Ve  got  to  wake  up  and 
take  them  to  our  breast,  to  nourish  and  warm 
and  save  them.  There  '11  be  just  you  and  I 
and  a  few  others  to  call  the  rest  of  our  people 
until  they  hear  and  value  and  work,"  he  said 
as  he  settled  me  against  him  so  that  the  twain 
chants  of  our  heartstrings  became  one. 

"I  '11  follow  you  through  the  woods  and 
help  you  call,  Adam,"  I  said  softly,  with  my 
lips  under  the  red  crest  nearest  to  me. 

"And  I  '11  bring  you  back  here  to  nest 
and  stay  with  you  until  your  young  are  on 
their  feet,  with  their  eyes  open,"  Pan 
crooned  against  my  lips.  "Dear  God,  what 
a  force  unit  one  woman  and  one  man  can 
create!" 

THE  END 

267 


THE  FIREFLY 
OF  FRANCE 

By  MARION  POLK  ANGELLOTTI 

This  is  not  a  story  of  laughter  or  tears,  of  shock  or  depression.  It  has 
no  manufactured  gloom.  It  preaches  no  reform.  It  has  not  a  single  social 
problem  around  which  the  characters  move  and  argue  and  agonize.  No 
reader  need  lie  awake  at  night  wondering  what  the  author  meant;  all  she 
intends  to  convey  goes  over  the  top  with  the  first  sight  of  the  printed 
words.  The  story  invites  the  reader  to  be  thrilled,  and  dares  him  (or  her) 
to  weep. 

Briefly,  "The  Firefly  of  France"  is  in  the  manner  of  the  romance — in 
the  manner  of  Dumas,  of  Walter  Scott.  It  is  a  story  of  love,  mystery, 
danger,  and  daring.  It  opens  in  the  gorgeous  St.  Ives  Hotel  in  New  York 
and  ends  behind  the  Allied  lines  in  France.  The  story  gets  on  its  way  on 
the  first  page,  and  the  interest  is  continuous  and  increasing  until  the  last 
page.  And  it  is  all  beautifully  done. 

The  Philadelphia  Record  says:  "No  more  absorbing  romance  of  the 
war  has  been  written  than  'The  Firefly  of  France.'  In  a  sprightly,  spon- 
taneous way  the  author  tells  a  story  that  is  pregnant  with  the  heroic  spirit 
of  the  day.  There  is  a  blending  of  mystery,  adventure,  love  and  high 
endeavor  that  will  charm  every  reader." 

12mo,  363  pages 

Illustrated  by  Grant  T.  Reynard 

Price  $1.40 

At  All  Bookstore.   TUC1    fENTITDV   Cf\     353  Fourth  Avenue 
PublUhedby    IHt   tbmllKl     tU.  New  York  City 


FILM  FOLK 

"Close-ups"  of  the  Men,  Women  and  Chil- 
dren who  make  the  "Movies." 

By  ROB  WAGNER 

A  book  of  humor  and  entertaining  facts.  It  is  a  sort  of  Los  Angeles 
Canterbury  Tales  wherein  appears  the  stories,  told  in  the  first  person,  of 
the  handsome  film  actor  whose  beauty  is  fatal  to  his  comfort;  of  the  child 
wonder;  the  studio  mother;  the  camera  man,  who  "shoots  the  films";  the 
scenario  writer;  the  "extra"  man  and  woman,  whose  numbers  are  as  the 
sands  of  the  sea;  the  publicity  man,  who  "rings  the  bells,"  etc.,  etc. 

All  the  stories  are  located  in  or  near  Los  Angeles,  a  section  more 
densely  populated  with  makers  of  "movies"  than  any  other  section  on 
earth.  The  author  lives  there,  he  has  been  in  sympathetic  contact  with 
these  votaries  of  this  new  art  since  its  beginning,  and  his  statements  are 
entirely  trustworthy. 

"Film  Folk"  is  not  a  series  of  actual  biographies  of  individuals;  the 
author  in  each  case  presents  an  actor,  a  director  or  one  of  the  other  char- 
acters for  the  sake  of  concreteness  and  to  carry  out  the  story-form,  and 
he  contrives  to  set  forth  in  the  course  of  the  book  the  entire  movie-making 
world.  The  reader  gets  a  clear  idea  of  how  the  films  are  made,  and  he 
is  immensely  entertained  with  the  accounts  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  vast  movie  villages — manners  and  customs  unique  in 
many  respects. 

The  stories  are  told  in  a  style  as  easy  to  read  as  the  author  is  good- 
humored. 

8vo,  356  pages 

Illustrated  from  photographs 

Price  $2. 00 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 


A    000038063 


